


Brevity

by iggycat



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 49
Words: 27,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1875399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iggycat/pseuds/iggycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots capturing the brevity of human life. A short story collection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Right in front of Me

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so pretentious. This is really just a bunch of drabbles I've posted on tumblr.

"The Grapefruit Diet?" Arthur read the title of my book out loud and raised a brow. I grabbed the book back and shoved it in my backpack with a bit too much intensity.

"Shh, do you gotta be so loud about it?"

"Alfred, you don’t even like grapefruit," he simply added, not answering my question. I zipped up my backpack and swung it over my shoulder.

"Yeah, but it says I can lose 10 pounds in only 12 days," I mumbled and glanced at Arthur. He was looking me over tip to toe, and my cheeks started to heat. I hated when he did that.

"Again with this? You look fine, Al," he said with a frown.

"No I don’t. You don’t have to lie to my face, Arthur," I said quickening my pace as I walked down the hall. "I’m tired of people calling me Jelly-Belly Jones and asking if the F in my name stands for fat."

I could hear Arthur’s swift footsteps as he easily caught up with me; it wasn’t like I could move that fast after all. A hand grabbed at my shoulder and I turned to look at him.

"They’re idiots, Alfred. You have to ignore them," he said and I noticed he was still frowning. "If you want to lose weight, do it for you, not to satisfy some arrogant, self-proclaimed popular morons."

I averted my eyes and Arthur sighed. He removed his arm, and for a second I felt cold even though I was pretty well insulated.

"There’s no one here worth impressing," Arthur said at long last and I looked up at him.

Maybe he was right about the other things, but with this he was dead wrong. There was someone I desperately wanted to impress, and he was standing right in front of me.


	2. The Wrong Idea

_The Wrong Idea_

**By Arthur Kirkland**

I thought I was in love with Alfred Jones.

In love with those blue, blue eyes

and goldenrod hair.

With the way his glasses slid

Just a centimetere down his nose

And the slight curve of his smile

Like a crescent moon peeking through the clouds.

I thought for sure it was from that burly laugh

That sent shivers down my spine

Or from the way my heart would pound in amazement and repulsion

As he answered a question correctly before I’d had a moment to think.

I admired his ability to discuss things far beyond my knowledgeable realm;

Isomerism and Hydrolysis,

Centripetal motion and quantum mechanics

But so too his ability to speak my language and say something insightful about

Slaughterhouse-Five or Hamlet

Or to persuade the rest of us that the War Guilt Clause

Was the Allies greatest mistake.

I thought I was in love with Alfred Jones

And so I took a chance.

In a friendly gesture I asked him to lunch

And we sat and chatted over lemonade and sandwiches.

But I realised something halfway through

As Alfred finished discussing the best play from the last football game

And moved on to his opinion of some new software

My thoughts drifted to anything

Anything at all that I would find more interesting.

I’d been wrong the whole time

I was not in love with Alfred Jones,

But in love with the idea of being in love.


	3. References

Arthur nibbled on the end of his pen as he waited.

_Hey this is Alfred. I hope this wasn’t your one call from prison cause I’m not here right now-_

“Brilliant,” Arthur sighed as he hung up the call and placed his phone back on his desk. He tucked away a few sheets of paper into his briefcase as he contemplated the best way to get home from the city.

“The train’s cheaper…” Arthur mumbled to himself, but just the thought of dealing with the masses made his head pulse.

“True, but why would you take the train when you’ve got your own personal chauffeur?”

Arthur swiveled around in his chair to find Alfred, buttoned up in a wool coat and burgundy scarf, leaning on the right side of his cubicle.

“How did you get in?”

“I had Scotty beam me up.” Arthur rolled his eyes but rose from his chair and grabbed at his coat.

“I wasn’t aware I worked on the Starship Enterprise.”

“Oh, dude, you got the reference!"

Alfred let out a laugh and grinned at Arthur as he passed him his gloves.

“We have Star Trek in England. I don’t know why you seem to think it’s a whole new world.”

Arthur realized his mistake two seconds too late. Alfred had started to hum the theme to Aladdin and was about ready to belt out a verse.

“Please don’t,” Arthur stammered as he encouraged Alfred to step lively.

“ _I can show you the world._ ”

“Alfred.”

“ _Shining, shimmering, splendid!_ "

“All right, Aladdin. Are you taking me home on a carpet or just your standard Audi?”

Alfred laughed again as the two made their way through the maze of cubicles that was Arthur’s office.

“That’s two references for you in one night. I’m impressed.”

“I imagine it feels quite like the time you once made me a proper cup of tea.”

Alfred stuck out his lips in a pout as Arthur opened the door leading them into a hallway. Arthur looked both ways before popping a kiss onto Alfred’s cheek.

“Come now, don’t be like that.”

He tapped Alfred lightly on the cheek and kept walking, but after a few steps realized that Alfred wasn’t following. Arthur glanced back and noticed that Alfred was bouncing on the soles of his feet as he eyed the toilet.

“Do you need to go?”

Alfred looked over and sent him a quirky smile.

“I’m not sure.”

Arthur’s eyebrows drew together as Alfred continued to bobble.

“How can you not be sure?”

“I’m trying to decide whether or not I can hold it through rush hour traffic.”

Arthur simply rolled his eyes again.

“So instead of just going, you’re wasting time deciding whether or not you should go.”

“To pee, or not to pee, that is the question.”

Alfred turned toward him and grinned.

“I can do references too! Romeo and Juliet is basically just the more depressing version of Aladdin.”

Arthur shook his head, but couldn’t help but smile.

“That quote is from Hamlet actually.”

Alfred’s face paled as he quickly started walking again, apparently deciding he’d make it through the traffic.

“You know what, let’s not make references anymore. I feel pretty stupid.”

Arthur smiled as he caught up with his other half and took Alfred’s hand in his own.

“Well that’s too bad because frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”


	4. Helpless

_Helpless_

**By Alfred F. Jones**

Not again, they insist  
Eyes shut and ears closed  
Under pressure they turn their backs  
To face away from the Atlantic  
Refusing to acknowledge suffering that is not their own  
Arthur, I’m so sorry  
Little by little you’re broken and I stand by  
Isolated and with my hands bound by my own people  
They don’t want this, they never did  
Yet neither did you  
And still I’m forced to watch you fight  
Crippled and burned to the ash of night  
They don’t understand, but they are only human  
Suppose it was _their_ neighbor’s house that had caught fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you notice that was an acrostic poem? :)


	5. Anagram

“What are you up too?” England asked over the top of his paper, not lifting his eyes from the inky text.

America looked up from where he was scribbling on a piece of paper.

“Oh nothing. Just anagraming some stuff.”

“You’re sure you’re not strategically planning your next Pokemon party?” England commented with a smirk.

America stopped writing and let his shoulders slump.

“That was one time, England. I was EV training!”

“Of course you were,” England smiled and returned his full attention to the print in front of him.

America, however, didn’t seem ready to let the conversation end. He flipped the scrap of paper between his fingers a few times before he opened his mouth once again.

“Did you know your name anagrams to ‘Dang Len’?”

America’s smile disappeared as England raised a brow and lowered his paper.

“Yeah, well I guess it would be funnier if your name was Len,” America mumbled and glanced at the floor, the wall, anywhere that wasn’t England’s judging eyes.

“I suppose it’s better than what your name anagrams too,” England paused and America looked back up. “‘AA crime.’ Almost a triple A rating.”

England was smirking though America noticed it was his caring smirk; the closest he could get to an actual smile.

“It also anagrams to ‘Came air.’ I suppose that fits you with your love for airplanes and whatnot,” England followed up and then casually returned to his paper.

America struggled to stay quiet once again, but before he knew it he was speaking.

“Well your name also anagrams to gladenn, with two n’s, which I know isn’t a word but it should be. It could be like the verb to make someone glad, only with two n’s cause the English language is fucked up, ya know? And it would make sense that your name anagrams to gladenn cause whenever I see you it gladenns my day.”

America bit his tongue to stop his incessant rambling, but it was too late. He’d made a fool of himself. He sighed and resigned himself to England’s ridicule, but when America looked back up, England was smiling. Not a smirk, but a real true smile.


	6. His Own Beat

You know, when I was younger I hated my brother. It was probably from the incessant noise that followed him everywhere he went. I guess I should have known that he would become a drummer. He used to use me as a drum when he got his first rattle and I would just sit there and wallow in my own misery. It got worse when he turned ten and our parents bought him a drum set. Every minute of the day was filled with bangs and smacks from his drumsticks against the instruments. Do you know how hard it was to try and solve long division problems when the sound of drums permeated through every wall of the house? There was no escape.

By twelve he decided he wanted to form a band. For our thirteenth birthday he bought me an electric guitar which was meant to send me a message. The joke was on him though because I _did_ learn how to play the guitar, I just refused to join in on his antics. He didn’t find anyone else for the garage band he dreamed about but he kept practicing. There were days I’d stay up studying for a chemistry test and I’d hear intense drumming late into the night. I will never understand how our parents slept through everything.

He got good, really good, and I can’t express how ticked off I was when our parents agreed to let him take a gap year to practice music. After four agonizing years of high school my reward was going to university where I just got to study some more. My brother on the other hand got to take a year off and travel to England to practice his music? How was that fair?

It paid off though, and six years after the decision was made both our lives have changed quite a bit. When he returned he asked me a very similar question to the one he posed when we were thirteen. The only difference is that this time I agreed.

I’m still getting used to the intensely bright lights and the screams of thousands of fans, amplified in the massive venues. This was never what I envisioned for myself but I know it’s what my brother’s been dreaming about his entire life.

I don’t hate him anymore. How can I when he always looks so happy as he jumps all over the stage at the end of the night and throws his drumsticks into the crowd? But what really makes me smile is when he makes his way over to our lead singer who my brother met in England. Every concert, without fail, he’ll pull him down by his tie into a kiss and the entire crowd will erupt into applause.

Looking back, I’m glad our parents gave my brother that rattle. Who knew drumming would make him so happy?


	7. Tell me I’m not dreaming

Arthur was out of it. Two more hours left on a Thursday afternoon. The five hour energy he’d swallowed during his lunch break was no longer speeding up his heart and keeping his eyes open. He typed away slowly, the words not coming as fast as they should if he weren’t so tired.

Somebody tapped him on the shoulder but in his sleepy haze he shrugged it off. There came another tap, and when he was too slow to turn around, there was another. He swiveled in his chair, hoping to God it wasn’t his boss, hoping he didn’t need to work overtime.

The gears in his mind turned slowly and for a second he thought he was hallucinating. It couldn’t be.

"Alfred?"

"Well don’t just stand there, come here," encouraged the man as he smiled and held his arms out.

And Arthur did as told. He fell into the uniform covered arms and squeezed as hard he could. He thought he heard clapping in the background of the office but he was hyperfocused on Alfred.

"Tell me I’m not dreaming."

There was a warm chuckle in his ear.

"No, babe, you’re definitely awake."

With a groggy mind, and tired, wet eyes, Arthur kept hugging, squeezing the daylight out of Alfred. He would never let him leave again. A twelve month deployment was just too much.


	8. Goodbye

“Matthew, why pick your own brother?”

Matthew stiffened, not daring to look to his left where Alfred was no doubt glaring at him.

"He kept forgetting to bank," Matthew finally said weakly, still refusing to look up at his brother. "I don’t want to risk another round like that."

She turned away from him, her eyes on a new target.

“And you, Arthur? Why vote off your fiancé?”

The man didn’t even bat an eyelash as he said, “He missed the question on the NHS.”

"How was I supposed to know it stood for National Health Service?" Alfred bit out from across the stage, but Arthur only narrowed his eyes.

The woman brought everyone’s attention back to the only other Brit in the room.

“Well, for your sake, Arthur, I hope his incompetence does not extend into the bedroom.” 

She spun on her heals and turned back to the man who had spoken out of turn.

“Alfred, you are the weakest link. Goodbye.”


	9. Make it Your Dream

I was leaning against the door frame when the school bell rang. I’d snuck out of my seventh period class five minutes early to ensure that I got there before school let out.

As people filed out I waited eagerly for my boyfriend to step out of the room. Alfred was a taller-than-average guy with lanky arms and a pair of wire frames that would make anyone else look sharp but made him look rather dorky. He may not have been the most attractive boy at school but he was certainly one of the kindest. When I’d transferred to school here in Vermont all the way from England, Alfred had been the one person to talk to me, to sit with me at lunch, to be my friend and make me feel like I wasn’t utterly alone. We became great friends and by the summer between our sophomore and junior year we became more than that. Since then we were almost always together at school and that’s why I thought it odd that one day in March of our senior year, Alfred seemed to be avoiding me. I’d seen him around (his height made him easy to spot in a crowd) but when I tried to follow him he’d disappear behind a corner and vanish. I started to worry, and decided to sneak out of my last class and wait Alfred out.

When Alfred stepped out of the room he spotted me and instantly sped up. I fumbled but chased after him, cursing the fact that Alfred was a cross country runner.

"Hey!" I finally shouted as I latched onto Alfred’s wrist. "Slow down! Where are you going?"

Alfred tried to shake me off but I held firm.

"Art, please let go."

Alfred’s voice was broken and this came as a shock to me. The boy was usually bubbly all the time; a smile was his default expression. I loosened my hold but did not let go.

"Al, what’s wrong?"

But he didn’t answer. He did however try to shrug off my hand again.

"I’m gonna take the bus home today, ok? You go home."

I frowned and reaffirmed my hold on Alfred’s wrist.

"No, not okay. Come on we’ll talk somewhere private." 

Whether Alfred consented or was just too tired to try to flee, I didn’t know, but I slowly led my boyfriend to my old blue Corolla parked in the back lot. Alfred got in on the passengers side, and I got in on the driver’s side as per usual, but all was not normal.

"What happened?" I spoke softly but Alfred just looked ahead out the front window and failed to respond.

"Alfred," I said sternly but with care. "Please tell me."

Alfred’s lips curled downwards and he turned his head to look out the side window, back toward the school. I sighed and decided I’d try something uncharacteristic of myself. I reached for Alfred’s hand, taking it in my own and rubbed circles, then hearts, into Alfred’s thumb. I rarely showed affection, and so I hoped the small gesture would calm Alfred and let him know I was there for him.

Alfred didn’t look over but he intertwined our fingers. There came a small mumble from the right side of the car.

"I didn’t get in."

"What?"

Alfred turned slightly and I noticed his wet eyes.

"I didn’t get into the University of Michigan," he said quickly and turned back around.

I heard a sniffle but I didn’t know what to say. The University of Michigan had been Alfred’s dream school. He’d talked about going there since sophomore year.

"Oh, pet, it’ll be all right."

"Says you!" I felt his hand slip out of mine as he turned to face me. "You got into Middlebury! You’re going to your dream school!"

Alfred’s eyes were very red and I could tell that he was holding back tears, he must have been holding them back all day.

"Alfred, a college acceptance isn’t everything," I said and reached for his palm again but he slipped it away and averted his eyes to the ground. I felt almost betrayed by that action but tried not to show it.

"You got into the University of Vermont, didn’t you?" I asked him, trying to engage him again. "That’s a great accomplishment. You should be proud of yourself."

"But it’s not my dream school," Alfred muttered as he attempted to casually wipe at his eyes. 

"No, but you can make it your dream school."

He turned to me and I smiled.

"Alfred, it’s not the school itself, but what you do with your time there that makes it so important."

I lent up and traced a tear track down his face.

"Plus," I paused and looked him in the eyes. "UVM is so much closer to Middlebury and I like that," I said with a smile.

He reached for my hand and I let him take it.

"I like that too," he said with a small chuckle.

Alfred lent in and I hugged him, letting him rest his head on my shoulder.

"UVM has a great business program. Did you know that?"

"No, but that’s wonderful. Maybe you can open up a book store and sell all my future award-winning novels."

Alfred pulled away and held me at arms length.There was a small sparkle in his eyes now and the smile I loved was back.

"Do you really think I could do that?"

"Sure," we smiled together and I pushed up to kiss his cheek. "You can do anything if you make it your dream."


	10. It Takes Two

"Hey, Arthur!"

Brace yourself. Here he comes. 

"Hey there! You move so fast, man, are you on the track team or something?"

You stare at him, not quite puzzled, but with a look that assures him you’re judging. He cracks a shy smile and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. You certainly don’t notice as the hem of his t-shirt lifts just an inch.

"Right, of course not. Why did I ask, that was stupid," he sends you a braver smile, proudly showing off all 32 pearly whites. "Anyway, I meant to ask you," he pauses and lowers his hand into the pocket of his raggedy, meant-to-look-but-are-not-actually-old jeans and looks you straight in the eye. "Are you gonna come see _Hairspray_? It’s opening night tonight.”

He licks his lips, and you think he looks nervous. You have an inkling it has nothing to do with the musical.

"I’m playing Link Larkin you know," he says and you can’t help your quick wit so you respond rather snarkily. 

"Not Corny? What a shame. His name fits you so much better."

He lets out a bark of a laugh but it looks strained. He manages to steady himself on his feet and cocks his head toward the door.

"Well, I gotta go, but I really hope to see you there!"

He rushes out and you just stare at the empty space where he stood.

Nobody needs to know that you already reserved front row tickets for the show. Nobody needs to know Tracy isn’t the only one that can hear bells.


	11. Sexiled

"Arthur?" I blinked even though there was plenty of artificial light in the lounge. "What are you doing here?"

Arthur was an international student from Great Britain. He lived on the fourth floor of Shaymen where all the international students were housed.

"What any reasonable person would be doing at 3 AM: trying to sleep." He sat up from the dingy brown sofa in the room and rubbed at his eyes."It’s not going terribly well, I’m afraid."

I smiled as I walked toward him from the left half of the lounge which was meant as a kitchen; it was a poor excuse if you ask me, there wasn’t even a fridge on this floor.

"Sexiled?" I ask, but I already knew. That was the only reason anyone slept on the crappy sofas on each floor.

"Sadly, yes," he mumbled as he pulled at the blanket he’d draped himself in, making room for me on the couch. “I’d swear Francis is attempting to sleep with everyone on campus,” he said with a sigh as he stretched out his neck, rubbing at an apparent sore spot. “What are you doing up?” 

"I was doing a little late night studying," I said simply as I took a seat next to him and looked down into my now cooling cup of Joe. "I made some coffee to stay awake."

"Brilliant, and why are you here?" he asked, referring to why I was on the international floor seeing as I was very much American.

"Uh… I came to see if you guys had any sugar up here. We ran out on the first floor."

I was relieved when he didn’t ask why I’d climbed four flights of stairs instead of checking the second or third floors. I didn’t really know the answer to that myself; I was just kinda drawn here.

"Second shelf of the far left cabinet," Arthur said as he pointed back to the kitchen area. He slid back down on the couch, trying to get comfortable.

"My roommate left early to fly back to Minneapolis for the holiday,” my mind started spewing out words before I knew what I was doing. “You can sleep in his bed if you want. It’s bound to be more comfortable than the shitty sofa.”

 Arthur looked incredulous as he sat up again.

"I wouldn’t want to invade his space."

"You won’t be invading!" I assured him. "I’ll wash his sheets and stuff, he won’t even know the difference." 

I wondered why I was trying so hard to convince Arthur to sleep in my room, but I think deep down I knew. As I led Arthur back to my dorm on the first floor I smiled thinking that next time it would be Francis sleeping on the sofa.


	12. #Hashtag

"You," Arthur growled as he pushed a taller blonde into the brick wall he’d been leaning against. "Are you insane?"

Bemused, bright blue eyes did nothing to comfort the Brit today and he pushed the other again, more harshly. “Come in, USS Moron.”

Alfred blinked away his confusion and looked down at his fuming boyfriend of two months.

"Yeah?" he asked, rubbing at his shoulder. Those bricks were pretty hard.

"What the heck is wrong with you?" Arthur demanded, pointing an accusing finger at his chest.

"Woah, woah, what are you even talking about?" Alfred ventured cautiously, slowly reaching up to take Arthur’s invasive hand. 

As much as he wanted to, Arthur did not smack away Alfred’s palm, but he did dig his nails deep into the other’s skin as they entwined their hands.

"You tweeted a picture of me, asleep, in your bed," Arthur started with a snarl. He glanced up at Alfred and summoned his best glare. "Why on earth would you do that?"

Alfred for one was confused as to why Arthur was making such a big deal out of this.

"I wanted the rest of the world to see how cute my boyfriend is, is that a problem?" he asked, honestly at a loss.

His counterpart sighed, his anger simmering down, and he removed the nails that had burrowed into Alfred’s skin.

"Yes, Al, it is a problem," he told the taller man in a voice much softer than before. "There are intimate moments that aren’t supposed to be shared with the rest of the Internet, and that was one of them."

"But you got 27 retweets-"

"I don’t care about the blasted likes or retweets!" Arthur yelled, garnering a few stares from passerbys. He inhaled and started much more quietly: "It’s not about that, Alfred. Just please don’t do it again."

"Um, alright," Alfred quickly agreed, eager to calm his boyfriend. "I really didn’t mean to upset you," he added as he went in for a hug.

"I know," he acknowledged, returning the embrace and finally cooling down. "Oh and Alfred," he said, as he rested his head on his counterpart’s shoulder. “Don’t you ever tag a picture of me as _#swagtasticbf_ or _#yolo_ ever again.”


	13. Popsicles and Post-it Notes

Not again, no, not again. He glared at his phone’s lock screen displaying the familiar unknown number. This was the first time it rang today, but the fourth time this week, and the twelfth time in the past fortnight. He’d answered only once before and hung up thirty seconds into the call once he realized who it was on the other line.

There was no way in hell he was going to pick up. He didn’t want to, he didn’t need to, and dare say, he was even rather scared to answer the phone. 

“ _But,_ " the thought did cross Arthur’s mind, " _If I answer, just this once, I can tell the arsehole to fuck off and stop calling._ ”

It was a rash, and maybe even a stupid decision, but Arthur clicked the small green phone icon and spoke as determinedly as he could.

"Look, I don’t know why the inebriated version of myself thought it was a good idea to give you my phone number, but that was a mistake, and it wasn’t the only one I made that night," Arthur paused for a quick breath and continued before his confidence ran out. "It was one night, I was smashed and desperate and I cocked up. It was a _mistake_ , I can’t emphasize that enough, so please do stop calling me. I’m sorry I’m not the playful little tart you we’re hoping for. Good day.”

He pulled his mobile from his ear, but right before hanging up, he heard the familiar voice he could not put a face to.

"Woah, woah, wait! I’m not calling for favors if that’s what you’re thinking!"

The voice sounded a bit frantic, but Arthur still didn’t trust it.

"We were both pretty drunk that night but I made sure you gave me your number while you were still somewhat coherent. I remember I was gonna leave after that, but you bought me another drink, and I returned the favor and," there was a short laugh on the other end of the line, "…yeah."

A tense silence ensnared the conversation before Arthur willed back his confidence.

"Again, I’m sorry. It was a mistake. Please stop calli-"

"Did you know," the other voice interrupted. "Popsicles were invented when a little kid left his glass of soda out overnight and it froze? The next day when he went to pull out his straw, he got a sweet treat instead."

For a moment, all Arthur could do was blink blankly at the wall.

"That’s all well and good, but I don’t see how it pertains to-"

"And did you know the inventor of post-it notes was actually trying to make a really strong adhesive but messed up and made a pretty weak one instead?" the voice continued, ignoring Arthur.

At this point Arthur was extremely tempted to just hang up, but his gentlemanly willpower was telling him he needed to formally end the call.

"What I’m trying to say," the man on the other line persisted. "Is that not all mistakes are bad."

Arthur could almost hear a smile in his voice and he hoped his shock was not apparent to the man on the other line.

"So can we rewind and take things a bit slower?" The voice continued, not waiting for Arthur to give an answer. "Hi, my name is Alfred and I’d like to be your good mistake."


	14. Blue Diamonds

"Alfred."

He continued to ignore me. What a shock. 

"Alfred," I mumbled, gently pushing the man away from my collarbone, a trail of wet kisses in his wake. 

"Alfred, take it," I tried for the third time, but he simply rerouted his course and started pecking at my cheek.

With no real alternative I scooted away, forcing him to stop his ministrations. That ultimately caught his attention and he looked me in the eyes.

"Yeah? Sorry, was I kissing too hard?"

"Alfred," I sighed, taking his face in my hands. "I want you to take it."

He laughed awkwardly, peeling my fingers from his cheek and attempted to lean in toward my neck again.

"Alfred!" This time I was serious, determined, not going to be ignored again. He lifted his face but did not look me in the eyes.

"I don’t need it, Arthur, I swear I don’t." 

At 47 years of age, Alfred still acted like a toddler at times.

"Just take it," I somewhat pleaded, reaching over Alfred to grab the blue diamond and a glass of water I’d left on the small, wooden end table. "Here."

He pushed my hands away, averting his eyes. I could see embarrassment written all over his face.

"I’m telling you I don’t need it. Please, let’s just go on without it."

I sighed, replacing the pill and liquid back on the table. Alfred was nothing if not persistent. 

"Alfred," I said taking his face in my hands once again. There were a few wrinkles on Alfred’s oval face, and I could see a several strands of salt and pepper hair amongst his blonde locks. I realized though, when he looked up at me a few moments later, his eyes looked just as youthful as when we’d first met what feels like so long ago.

"Alfred, we’ve been married 17 years," I started thoughtfully, but was cut off.

"Best 17 years of my life," he piqued up and I rolled my eyes, but rewarded him with a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Yes, exactly, I’d agree," I smiled at him and he returned the gesture. "And I would’ve thought that by now, you’d know I’d never judge you."

His eyes widened a bit but then he barked out a laugh.

"Are you kidding me? You judge me every time I make a cup of tea that’s not up to your high standards."

"Yes, well, even a complete moron should be able to make a decent cuppa," I said, because it was true. "But that’s a minor matter. I was talking about bigger things," I replied.

I could tell Alfred was digesting my words because he cocked his head back and snuck a peek at the blue pill sat on the end table. He glanced back at me with a small frown.

"I just don’t want you to think I’m less masculine or anything," he mumbled out, and I knew it took quite a bit of courage to admit that.

"You? The man who hasn’t shaved in days?" I remark, making a point to run my fingers across his stubble. "The man who keeps his grill in tip top condition so he can show it off? The man who comes home from work everyday covered in sweat and grease? How could you be any less masculine?"

He laughed, and this time when he leaned in to kiss me I let him.

"I knew there was a reason I married you," he snickered and as I opened my mouth to retort he kissed me again. When we separated, he leaned back, grabbed, and swallowed the tiny blue diamond.

"Happy?" he smiled.

"Not as much as you’re about to be, I’d bet."

He laughed and pushed me back down into the couch cushions. 

I would never judge Alfred, but I’ll always be glad for those tiny blue diamonds.


	15. I Just Called to Say I Hate You

A ring at three in the morning? My mind provides the idea that perhaps if I roll over I might still find solace, my beauty sleep may not yet be ruined.

There’s another ring, and then a third, and a fourth, and finally my mobile is silent. I sigh, and just as I think I might still be able to retain my drowsy state and return to the dream world, my home phone shrills, waking me up completely. It wails thrice more, but I refuse to give the caller the satisfaction of an answer. How dare they call me at such an ungodly hour?

I hear my own voice on the answering machine recording, requesting whomever it is leave me a name and phone number, and then I hear the familiar beep. I’m in the middle of sitting up and rubbing my eyes awake when I’m caught off guard.

"Francis, where the fuck are you that you can’t pick up the blasted phone?" I can hear Arthur sigh in disgust, but he doesn’t sound like his usual disgruntled self. There is something there, a twinge of happiness, dare I say.

"Absolutely disgraceful," he continues, but by now I’ve escaped my satin sheets and thrown on a robe. I grab at the cordless phone before he hangs up.

"Yes, I know you are, mon ami."

I think I may have startled him because he doesn’t respond. I decide I’d better say something just a bit more pleasant.

"How drunk are you that you’ve forgotten the time difference between Lyon and Los Angeles?"

I can hear a laugh but it’s certainly not Arthur’s. It’s quickly silenced as Arthur muffles the source, but it’s too late. I know who it is.

"Ah, Alfred, is that you?"

More muffled sounds come through the receiver but they’re cut off.

“Why didn’t you pick up when I called your mobile?” Arthur asks, faking contempt. I’ve heard Arthur genuinely angry and this is not it.

“I was attempting to salvage the remnants of sleep,” I tell him, but he does not seem sympathetic to the fact that he’s just woken me up in the middle of the night.

There’s a small chuckle on the other line which is strange for Arthur but confirms my suspicion that he seems to be in an agreeable mood for some reason. All at once it stops, and Arthur returns to speaking in his voice laced with an air of superiority.

“Of course, my apologies. I just thought that perhaps you might like to know that Alfred and I are getting married.”

There’s a laugh again coming from the other end of the line, but I’m too shocked to register whether it’s Alfred or Arthur.

“Oh dear, have you fallen asleep on us? I shouldn’t have waken you. I’ll call back when you’re well rested,” Arthur drawls and I can tell that he’s wearing a smile on his face.

“Kirkland, you hang up this phone and you’re a dead man.”

“ _Hey, hey, don’t make me a widower so soon,_ " says Alfred, now much more clearly. I figure he too is smiling.

Arthur stays on the line and we talk for much longer than usual about the proposal and plans for the wedding. Of all my requests, Arthur grants me but one concession, that he will let me make the cake. I find this fitting because for how bitter Arthur can be, he is occasionally sweet, and I’m so happy that someone else has finally seen that.


	16. Day 843

Arthur’s gone to get us some food and I’m worried, but I’m always worried. You’d think after 2 years of this the fear would ebb away but it doesn’t. It’s saturated me, my mind, my body, my soul. I’m always scared, but Arthur isn’t. I don’t understand. He’s not quite immune, but they don’t affect him like they affect me.

He’s back. I’m glad. I always worry that when he leaves he won’t return; it’s one of my many fears.

Everyday I’m reminded how lucky I am that I found Arthur… Or really that he found me. I was only 17 when it happened. I’d been the only one home. I stayed inside, too scared to move until hunger consumed me more than my fear. I took the small handgun my dad kept under his bed and ventured outside.

Everything was eerily quiet. My steps were swift and fox-like, but when I heard a noise I froze. I pointed my gun. To the left? To the right? Behind me? I didn’t know where to aim. How many where there? Just one? A group? A mob?

Just then I heard another noise. A footstep, not as soft as mine but just as fast. Then he was there, behind me, knocking the gun from my hand and covering my mouth as I screamed. He turned me around, shushing me, calming me down. It took me awhile to register that this was no monster but a man.

He leaned down, picked up the gun and handed it to me.

"Are there anymore with you?" he asked hopeful, but I shook my head and nearly started to sob.

"I’ve been alone for weeks," I told him and the tears started to fall.

"I can get you food," is all he said, and I just nodded, ignoring my blurry vision and looking right into the eyes of the man in front of me.

Neither one of us ever mentioned our first encounter again. We stuck together, but Arthur never pried, and every time I tried to ask a question he shook it off. All I knew after these two years was that his name was Arthur, he was now 25 years old, and he’d been a British police officer who was on holiday when it happened.

Arthur approaches and hands me a pack of peanut butter sandwich crackers. He drops the pistol he’d taken with him and takes a seat on the floor next to me. We split the 6 crackers and eat in companionable silence. I don’t ask if he saw anything while he was out, and he doesn’t share that information.

Living like this, I’m always scared. I don’t know how Arthur stays so calm when tomorrow isn’t even guaranteed.

Sometimes I want to tell Arthur my fears. I want to tell him, not so much that I’m scared to die, but of everything I’ll miss if I do. I’ve never kissed a girl, or made love to a girl, and I’m worried that I never will. Are there even any girls left alive? Or are me and Arthur the only survivors?

Sometimes…sometimes I think I’d like to kiss Arthur, make love to Arthur, but again I’m scared. I don’t know if I really want to because I love him or if it’s just because I’m desperate and don’t know if I’ll ever find anyone else. I think that’s what scares me most, that I can no longer separate love from desperation. If I did those things without real emotion would they even matter? Would they feel the way I want them too?

I glance over but I don’t ask Arthur. I couldn’t, never would. He catches me staring and gives me a small smile, hands me his last cracker.

I don’t question him. I don’t say thank you because I’m starving, or refuse because I know he’s starving, I just take the cracker and nibble at it quietly. And I keep thinking of course. Wondering, praying, that tomorrow will be better and that I’ll still be alive.


	17. Say No to the Show

I reached my arms out in front of me and stretched my unused muscles. Don’t get me wrong, I loved working out, but there was nothing bad about a day spent lounging on the couch. The commercial that had been on ended and I didn’t bother to fix my shirt, which had risen slightly during my stretch, much too immersed with what was going on on screen.

"Oi," I heard before Arthur came into view. "Can you run this to the post office?" he asked, just a second before he dropped a large, and rather heavy, cardboard box on my stomach. The air was knocked out of me, as was an "Oof" of slight pain.

"Jeez, right now?" I asked, pushing the package off of me and onto the couch. "I’m busy," I said, motioning to the TV.

Arthur glanced up, only marginally interested and then shook his head.

"You can’t watch _Say Yes to the Dress_ all day, Alfred,” he deadpanned but he circled round the couch and took a seat next to me.

"I could if you stopped interrupting," I mumbled under my breath, jokingly, and slid my arm about Arthur’s shoulders.

"I don’t know how you stand to watch such rubbish," he said after a few minutes of a particularly vain bride asking to try on yet another princess ballgown.

That got me and as the show cut to a commercial, I turned to him.

"It’s not trash," I defended but Arthur looked no more persuaded. "It’s not," I just repeated as I spread my legs and pulled Arthur to my chest. He fidgeted for a second, as was expected, but eventually relaxed as I rested my head on his shoulder.

"I like seeing the brides," I said after a moment, but Arthur didn’t respond. "It’s just their faces when they talk about their fiances and that look when they try on the perfect dress, you know?"

Arthur lifted his head and mumbled, “That’s all staged, Alfred,” but I didn’t agree.

"Maybe… but I think it’s real. I don’t think you can fake that kind of happiness," I said and frowned as I looked at Arthur.

"I know it’s supposed to be a mindless, feel-good show," I started, biting my lip. "But sometimes it makes me kinda sad because I’ll never be able to see that look on your face."

Arthur stared at me then with something on his face I can’t quite describe. It was a bit of shock, maybe some confusion, and there was definitely a sprinkle of dismay in there somewhere.

"Alfred, getting married isn’t everything," he told me with a look of sincerity. "We don’t need a fancy ceremony or official piece of paper to prove anything to anyone."

"I know, but it’d be nice," I replied with a smile and kissed his nose. He blinked, then smiled and kissed my cheek in return.

"Besides," Arthur said extracting himself from my hold and getting up. "You put that look on my face every time you say something like that," he said with such an endearing smile, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Before I could comment, it was gone, and the heavy cardboard box was plunked back in my lap.

"Maybe you’ll see it again after you’ve gone to the post office."


	18. What did I come in here for?

It had the best selection, I told myself. Yes, that was why I decided to do my weekly shopping at a market half an hour away instead of at the one round the corner. The fresh fruit there was marvelous, yes, that was another reason. In fact, there was so much delicious fruit to choose from, I’d been standing behind a cantaloupe stand in the produce department for at least 10 minutes, just taking my time deciding what to get. Yes, that was most definitely it.

"Can I help you find anything?"

I jerked my head around and there he was. The marvelous, blonde produce man who was absolutely _not_ the reason weekly shopping had turned into biweekly, then tri-weekly, and now every single day. Truth be told, I didn’t even need anything at this store, I only came to see him and that stupid grin of his. He was using it on me now, and I could swear it had the same effect as a taser. I was momentarily stunned, and my mind was no longer in sync with my mouth.

"Ah, no, no, I’ve just come for some, uh," I looked down at the rows of cantaloupe. "I’m just here for some melons," I said a bit too loudly, and before I could rectify my mistake he was laughing.

"Sure! We’ve got the best melons in town," he said with a wink, and in that moment I wanted to bury my face among those melons; become the melon head I’d proved myself to be. 

"Oh, of course, but I’m not just here for these," I tried to think fast as a blush quickly crept up my cheeks. "I’m also her for," I glanced up, hoping this strategy would prove better the second time around and saw the dairy section. "Yogurt, yes, I’ll be needing some of that as well."

Good, yogurt seemed to be a safe bet. At least the produce god wasn’t laughing this time around.

"What kind of yogurt?" he asked, with that obnoxious grin as he wiped his hands on his apron. "I think you can tell a lot about people from their yogurt choice, ya know? Like I’m a die hard gogurt type of guy." 

He shot me another smile, and I really had no idea what he was going on about with his yogurt nonsense, but it sent my mind spinning. Yogurt types? In just a fraction of a second I’d forgotten every yogurt brand in existence. 

"Well, I’d say I’m partial to…," third time had to be the charm, right? I glanced over the man’s shoulder once again and the first thing that came into view was a row of bright green yogurt cups. "Activia! Definitely Activia."

He bit his lip, and looked almost in pain as he tried to contain his laughter. 

"So, you’re saying you’re irregular?" he asked and this time the laughter left his lovely body, just as my dignity slowly left mine.

"I- yes, no, I mean," I started but didn’t know where I was going. My blush was almost certainly as ripe as the fruit they sold in this horrid store that I would never be able to show my face in again. "I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten what I came in here for, please excuse me."

I hightailed it out of there, but before I could truly exit the store I was stopped by a hand on my elbow. I followed the elbow that was attached to a very nice and muscular arm, which connected to a dazzling chiseled chest, and atop that, the produce man’s gorgeous face and smile.

"I think I know what you came in here for," he said, not relinquishing his grip or smile. "They’re right over here, let me show you."

I don’t know why, but I let him walk me back to the produce section, over to a little alcove where the store sold figs and nuts. He let go of my arm then, reaching over and handing me a package of some type of fruit wrapped in cellophane. Across the package it read, ‘Fresh California Dates.’

I stared at the package wide-eyed until the produce god laughed again and brought me back into the present.

"I get off at 8. How about we go see that new zombie movie that’s playing downtown?"

My mind was mucky and the gears turned ever so slowly, but before I could speak he was laughing and squeezing my shoulder.

"Great, I’ll see you then," he said with a chuckle before going to unload a box of bananas.

Yes, this store did have the best fruit. Especially the best dates.


	19. Maybe Tomorrow Then

I grew up hating people. From a very young age I learned just how fake they were, from their empty smiles to their hollow laughs. Their eyes always held the truth, the thoughts of disgust or horror or false acceptance. Sometimes I would wonder whether the ones who sent me pitying or distraught glances were worse than the ones that looked straight ahead like nothing was wrong.

"Theater two, first on the left," I went through the motions, ripping the tickets a young boy handed me and sending him a small smile so full of the false happiness I’d perfected over the years. I chuckled when he asked his mother if I was some type of robot. Naturally she shushed him and apologized but I was amused. Children were, after all, the only people who really spoke their mind; the most honest of the lot. No adult had so blatantly pointed out the metal braces that were keeping me upright, though not a single one had failed to notice them.

I went through a phase where I hated myself for being “special.” I hated the fact that I couldn’t stand, couldn’t walk without crutches, couldn’t do anything that a normal human being should be able to do. But luckily that phase was short lived, as I quickly learned and came to understand that I was not the problem, but those around me.They were the ones who couldn’t accept me, who either frowned or averted their gaze at the sight of my legs. I learned people were fake, non-empathetic creatures just like every other animal on this earth. But…

"Hey, Sexy."

But then there was Alfred.

"Something on your mind? Usually you glare at me from the ticket counter but you didn’t even look up today."

I quelled the hot blush and took the ticket from him, ripping it down the middle.

"I don’t remember giving you permission to call me anything other than Arthur," I said handing his ticket back to him. "Theater 8, straight ahead on your right."

Alfred rolled his eyes and rounded the small podium where I stood collecting tickets.

"You should know by now I’m not here for the movie," he said with a smile, a different one from everyone else’s. Alfred’s smile held no pity, no false hope or meaning. Alfred’s smile was genuine.

"Ah, well then I do believe you’ve come to the wrong place," I said matter-of-factly, looking up at him; Alfred was a good head or so taller than me.

"Ya know my wallet keeps telling me that, but I just can’t stay away," Alfred grinned and leant in to sniff at my hair. "Mhm strawberries. My favorite."

I swatted him away, silently thanking god that no one had been behind Alfred in the queue to witness that.

"Last week you said vanilla was your favorite," was all I said as he stretched and settled his upper half against the podium, presumably getting ready to stand with me until the end of my shift.

"Well, that’s what you were using last week, right?" he sent me a blinding smile and I had to look away.

Alfred did stay until my shift ended at 9pm. For three hours he engaged me in childish banter, smiling the whole time. And like clockwork, at the strike of 9, Alfred was extending his hand and grinning ear to ear.

"So how about some dinner, milady?" He’d asked that everyday since he’d first appeared at the cinema over 2 months ago and every time my answer would be the same.

"Isn’t it a bit late for dinner?"

Alfred would always smile as he retracted his hand.

"Maybe tomorrow then."

Truth be told, I was scared to say yes to Alfred. I was afraid if we went out he would exhaust his interest in me and the thought of losing him was just dreadful. Alfred was different. He acknowledged my disability but he didn’t confuse me for it like most people. He cared about me, truly cared without mistaking pity for kindness. That was all I wanted, and though I wasn’t yet ready to say yes, to fully trust Alfred, he gave me some sense of hope that no one else could.

"Perhaps."


	20. Your Order, Your Majesty?

Were baristas really obligated to like their regulars? Were we really required to be happy that the same few people would come in every day like clockwork? That we needn’t even ask for their order because we’d already be halfway through blending or pouring whatever it was they liked? No, I didn’t think it was mandatory, and quite frankly I didn’t like my regulars. Always calling me by name, asking about my family as if we knew each other as something more than barista and consumer. I thought them invasive and quite a bit rude, but there was one aberrant. 

"There he is," my shift manager, Liz, elbowed me in the shoulder as she put down the pitcher she’d been drying and made her way over to the register. I spared a glance, but already knew who it was walking through the door. There was only one regular who would always appear at 3:15 on the dot.

"What can I get you?" Liz asked with a smug expression before looking back at the man and smiling. 

This regular was an aberration from the others. He never ordered the same thing, and stranger still, he changed his name upon each order. He was unpredictable, tall, obnoxious, blonde, daft, handsome and always wore a black shirt with the words “Personal Trainer” boldly printed on the back. 

As I met his eyes, he grinned, and I immediately turned around, flustered, determined to focus on nothing else but his order. I think the most peculiar thing about this regular was that I actually liked him.

"I’ll take a Mocha Cookies and Cream Frappuccino," he said in a sing-song voice. "And could I get an extra pump of dark chocolate in there?"

"Of course," Liz replied, just as giddy. "A name for the order?" she asked as I got to work preparing his mix of ice and sugar.

"Richard."

I mentally added the name to list of aliases he’d provided thus far: William, George, Alfred, Henry, Edward, James, Charles, and now Richard. I knew what he was doing. A complete idiot could see it.

"How long until you resort to Victoria or Elizabeth?" I asked him as I lowered the lid on the blender that held his chocolate and coffee concoction. I got a bark of a laugh in response.

"I like changing my name. I think it gives me an air of mystery," he dodged the question while resting his arm on the counter and sending me another smile.

"I think it gives you an air of stupidity," I said with a smirk, as I poured the mixture into the largest cup we had.

"Arthur, don’t insult the customers," Liz reprimanded, but I just rolled my eyes.

"So, will you ever give us your real name?" I asked, taking the whipped cream from the fridge and topping his drink.

"I already did," he said with a smile and a wink as I handed him his beverage. "See you tomorrow, King Arthur."

That evening, as I swept the floor and Liz divvied up the tip jar, she threw something my way.

"I think that’s for you," she said, hiding her face behind her hand.

I bent over and picked up what looked like a business card. “One free session with a personal trainer,” it declared. I turned it over and read the message written in a messy scrawl: _For Your Majesty._

No, he was not a special case, I decided as Liz continued to giggle by the register. I hated all of my regulars.


	21. Fault Lines

"Alfred, pick up your god damned mobile, you horrid, horrid man."

Francis squeezed my shoulder as I stopped my pacing for just a moment to stare at the screen. The same scenes appeared: collapsed portions of freeways, tilting infrastructure, strewn bricks amongst the debris of what once might have been a masonry building. And the people, that was the worst part. Cut up and bloodied, crying, caked in dust and dirt.

_Hi you’ve reached Alfred Jones. I must have misplaced my cell or something. If ya know me then ya know I’m always losing things! Anyway if you leave your name and number I’ll get back to yo-_

I squeezed my eyes shut and inhaled deeply, cursing Alfred for his stupidity, for his humour, for everything that made me fall in love with him, and when I was done, I prayed that he was still alive.

"I’m sure he’s fine," Francis assured me, kindly ignoring my hysteria as I tangled my fingers in my hair. "Los Angeles is a big place. He’s likely safe and sound."

Maybe he was, but when I opened my eyes again and saw the destruction from the rupture in the San Andreas Fault, I couldn’t bring myself to believe it.

I picked up my phone and tried him again.


	22. The Most Interesting Lecture

Professor Jones came tumbling into the lecture hall at 1:59pm looking frazzled, as per usual. He fussed with his hair for a few seconds as he got his Mac set up and dug through his computer bag for some chalk that he never wound up actually having. At 2:01pm he was either ready to start lecturing or had decided that this was as good as it was gonna get and stuck his hands into his pants pocket as he looked out at us.

“Are there any questions before we get started?”

I waited for the usual silence, but this time a voice spoke up from somewhere a few rows behind me.

“Just one,” an older looking man, well old isn’t the right word- someone older than the average college student, was standing in a pressed jacket, glaring daggers at the professor. “What happened to lunch?”

I think 200 pairs of eyes turned to see Professor Jones’ answer to that question. His eyes expanded in that way when you realize you left the water running or the oven on.

“Arthur, shit.”

The older man, who was apparently another professor according to the hushed whispers of the two girls beside me, took the few steps down and made his way out of the lecture hall.

“Fuck, Arthur, wait. I totally forgot.”

If Professor Jones looked frazzled before, it was nothing compared to now. His eyes were darting between us and the door, wanting to be in two places simultaneously. All at once he sucked in a breath, stuck a hand in his hair and spoke into his microphone.

“You know what? I think we could all use a free day. Read chapter 6 and we’ll discuss it on Thursday.”

He bolted out the door then, not even bothering with his computer. The room buzzed with rumors as people flowed out of the hall, eager to spend their unexpected hour and half on something much more interesting than electrical engineering.

I really couldn’t have cared less if Professor Jones was gay, and quite frankly, if his boyfriend got us out of class, I hoped he showed up more often.


	23. The Little Moments

Four years ago I’d never thought the two of us would mix well, just the way my latte did not compliment his cashmere scarf. But you never know I guess. That stain never did come out, but I like it now. It’s like a battle scare. One that still slightly smells of java.

I think what upsets me now is the extent to which Arthur truly cannot see. And I’m not talking about his vision. I don’t think he realizes how amazing he his. How beautiful his laugh is when he tries to hide his amusement. I want to tell him it’s okay, that we’re watching _When Harry Met Sally_ and the whole point is to laugh, but at the same time I find his attempt at secrecy endearing. It makes his giggle a treasure that perhaps wasn’t meant for me but I was lucky enough to discover.

But Arthur doesn’t know, doesn’t realize his worth. He’ll never see his smile, which always brings about mine. He’ll never see his eyes crinkle in the corners with the pleasure of a genuine smile, or his lower lip jut out slightly as he tries to hold in that secret laugh. Because Arthur can’t see, he assumes that he’s ugly, and that is truly a worse tragedy than anything Shakespeare wrote.

In the little moments though, when he smiles at something Billy Crystal has said, and coyly reaches for my hand, I see Arthur as twice as beautiful and I know this warm feeling is a good mix: admiration, joy, pure love. Maybe one day what I see will compensate for what he cannot. Maybe one day Arthur will realize that you don’t need to see to be able to feel that silly thing called love.


	24. Thanks?

"Alfred, don’t sit up so fast," Matt scolded as I struggled against the pressure and pain to lean up straight. I couldn’t help it, the look on Matthew’s face told me he’d done it.

"You found them, didn’t you?" I asked eagerly, eyes darting from my brother to the room door and back again.

"I don’t know what you’re expecting, Al," was all he said as he sighed. Truthfully, I didn’t know what I was expecting either but it just felt so wrong not to say hello, or thank you. How could I live with myself if I didn’t thank the person?

"Are they outside?" I asked again, leaning back against the bed frame. I’d exhausted my energy.

"Yes, he is," Matthew said, reluctantly moving toward the door. I don’t know why he seemed so put off by this. All I wanted to do was say thanks to the guy that gave me one of his kidneys.

His hand slid onto the handle, turning it slowly, and when a face emerged from behind the hospital door, I suddenly knew why Matthew had tried to keep my donor anonymous.

"It’s nice to see you again, Alfred," he said in his polite, clipped accent. It sounded just like I remembered it.

I hoped the doctor would come by and knock me out again because I didn’t know what to do or say to my ex-boyfriend besides an awkward: “Thanks for the kidney.”


	25. Wednesdays

I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a bounce in my step on Wednesdays. I had ‘flyer duty’ on Wednesdays, which meant I was the lucky member of the Comedy Club who got to stand out in the center of campus and hand out flyers and pamphlets for our events.

"Come to improv night on Friday!" I invited a girl, thrusting a flyer in her face which she promptly frowned at as she continued past me.

That was the majority of flyer duty, being turned down again and again. But it was worth it, and I’ll tell you why.

At 10:34 exactly, without fail, he would walk through McAllister Plaza. The short, but always impeccably dressed green-eyed boy, would stroll past with his headphones in and his mind elsewhere. I always smiled when I saw him coming.

"Come to improv night this Friday!" I smiled at him and handed him a flyer which he took, as he always did. He gave me a small smile in return and continued walking, never saying a word.

A warm and bubbly feeling was stirred up in my belly and I stared ahead with a happy and dazed kind of expression. I never turned back to see where he was headed or to ask for his name, because that would ruin the moment. He was mysterious, so handsome and suave, and even though he’d yet to make an appearance at any of the events I flyered, I knew he’d show up one day. That’s when I’d find out his name. That’s when I’d ask him to dinner.

* * *

 

Wednesdays were god awful. Aside from somehow managing to sit through four lectures and two discussions, I had to fit in three hours of work at the end of the day. They were horrid things that started at 6:00am and didn’t end until at least 1:00am.

I tried to walk briskly from the anthropology building to my linguistics class, but of course the two were on opposite sides of the campus, forcing me to go through the dreadful central plaza.

I moved swiftly, looking ahead and no where else, but like clockwork a piece of paper was thrust in my face.

"Come to improv night this Friday!" said the same tall, four-eyed bastard who would, without fail, flyer me every Wednesday morning, slowing me down and taking up valuable seconds that I could not afford to waste. I snatched the paper, mentally giving him a one finger salute and sent him the same fake smile I always did. Hopefully one day he would get the idea and stop pestering me.

I continued on, making haste, and came upon the linguistics building. Out front, I spared just a moment to toss the piece of paper the boy had given me into its usual rubbish bin, not even bothering to scan it over.

I sucked in a deep breath and hurried into the building, ready to continue my god awful Wednesday.


	26. We’ll Win Together

"Well hey if it isn’t some real life Tommies," Alfred said with a smile as he approached with a few other Americans. This was new, this was exciting, this was France in January 1918.

A few of the Brits came over to say hello. Many made comments about the pudginess of the doughboys. “You’ll lose your baby fat soon enough out here,” one of the soldiers commented with a slight laugh but Alfred felt it wasn’t as genuine as it should be. Some of the men back here in the rear were nice enough but many looked tattered in more ways than one. Even the soldier who’d joked around with Alfred had deep bags under his eyes.

Alfred, curious as a cat, wandered off to where one Tommy sat alone, sipping something out of a metal mug. He looked just as strained as the other soldier, if not worse.

"What’s goin' on with you? Been over the parapets one too many times?" Alfred said as a joke, but he was not met with any semblance of laughter. In fact it took all the soldier’s restraint not to launch his mug and all its hot contents at the starry-eyed American. Instead he whispered:

"No one goes over the parapets more than once."

"Yeah?" Alfred agreed not swallowing the reality of such a statement. He saddled up next to the soldier much to the man’s dismay. "Well I hope I get the chance to storm those German trenches and knock some heads in. That’ll be a great story to pass down, ya know?"

The other man didn’t know. He just took a sip of his tea so Alfred tried another tactic. He stuck out his hand.

"My name’s-" he started but was immediately cut off by the soldier.

"Don’t you dare tell me your name," the solemn soldier said with such fervor that Alfred obeyed, though he couldn’t stop his confusion from showing.

"Why?" 

The British soldier looked at him and Alfred saw things he’d never seen before in his face. His eyes spoke volumes, mostly of terror but also of sadness. There was none of the hope that was so often found in the faces of his own men.

"I don’t like knowing the names of dead men," the man said at last and took another long gulp from his mug.

"What?" Alfred’s voice betrayed him.

The Brit looked over but didn’t answer.

"But aren’t you excited to fight with us?" Alfred asked stupefied. "Fresh recruits! From the States! We’ll help you win this war."

"The only thought that crossed my mind when I heard the Americans were to join us was that I pity them," the soldier said so monotone it was almost like talking to a corpse.

"But we’ll win together," Alfred continued, adamant. 

"No," the solider said turning to him with those beautifully scarred eyes. Emotion finally took over his voice. "We’ll die together, don’t you understand?" he put down his cup, and his hand made a beeline for his frayed and dirtied hair.

Alfred didn’t understand, but just as he was about to voice this, the soldier grabbed him by the collar and slammed his head into the wall of the trench.

"I’ve lost everyone. My brothers are dead, my friends are dead, my cousins, my uncles, my neighbors, the men who were fighting next to me just yesterday," the Brit cracked out through labored breaths. "They’re all dead. And for what? Honor, glory? What reason is that to die?" he searched Alfred’s eyes out for an answer but the American had none.

The Brit relinquished his grip and rolled off of Alfred, slouching against the wall of the trench. He leant his head up and looked toward the sky, so near, yet so far off. He spoke softly one last time as Alfred got his bearings together.

"If you get out of here at all it won’t matter. You’ll already have died."


	27. I Can’t See in the Darkness

"Arthur. Arthur, wait just a second," Alfred pushed him away from his collarbone, a faint flush on his cheeks and neck.

Alfred, wasting no time, scooted out from underneath Arthur, just enough that he could reach over across his bedside table to hit a switch. A tiny light, that perhaps 4 or 5 fireflies might produce, lit up the room and Alfred smiled softly as he resituated himself beneath Arthur. He took one of Arthur’s hands and gently tucked it into the brim of his boxers. Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck and brought Arthur’s head down, his lips just brushing against the pale skin.

"Your hands are cold," he mumbled, but Arthur was distracted, not with the lips on his cheek or the needy words disguised so innocently, but with the light Alfred had turned on. He removed his hands from his boyfriend’s underwear and unhooked the arms around his neck.

"Arthur?" Alfred asked concerned as his partner lent up and rolled off the bed. "Arthur, what gives?" he asked, distractedly reaching for the sheet to cover his naked torso. "Arthur?"

Arthur for his part didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. He wasn’t quite sure exactly why he was searching for his trousers in the firefly light.

"Arthur, don’t be like that. What did I do? I’m sorry."

For someone who was usually so confident, Alfred looked truly pained. It hurt Arthur to know he was the cause of such hurt.

"I’m sorry, Alfred. I just can’t."

Alfred looked bewildered, the kind of cynical bewilderment you might feel when a friend cancels on your plans. In a moment his modesty was abandoned in favor of tripping out of bed and helping Arthur button up his dress shirt. Alfred said nothing, just silently buttoned as Arthur let his arms drop to the side. When he was done, he looked into Arthur’s eyes somewhat sadly.

"I can’t say I’m not disappointed," he started with a small smile, adjusting Arthur’s collar. "But if you can’t…," he looked away. "I’ll wait till you can."

"Alfred," Arthur really couldn’t avoid the obvious strain in Alfred’s voice. He took the hand that was playing with collar and held it in his own palm. "Alfred, I love you."

Unexpectedly Alfred laughed. Arthur didn’t have enough time to be offended.

"I know. I can feel that without you touching me," he grinned in the darkness and Arthur was stunned.

"It was your nightlight," Arthur blurted out before properly thinking the thought over. Alfred turned back and glanced at the small source of light. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Oh… I just. I’m afraid of the dark. I can’t sleep without it."

"I know that," Arthur mumbled, because he did.

"Then why…" Alfred asked the question that was settling around them like a thick fog.

"Because it’s childish, Alfred," he said simply, since it was the conclusion he’d come to as much as he disliked it. "Because it reminds me of a little boy reading his comics under his duvet by the light of a flashlight, or a baby waiting desperately for Father Christmas to come, eager to fall asleep but being unable to."

Alfred looked at him, trying to comprehend.

"I’m not a child, Arthur. I might have been that kid at one time, but I’m not anymore."

"You’re 19."

"Yeah, a legal adult for two whole years," Alfred tried, carefully placing a hand on Arthur’s cheek. It was no use, as Arthur easily peeled his fingers away and let them be taken by gravity.

"You’re still so young."

"Arthur, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but you’re only 25. You’re not that much older than me," Alfred refused to look away, though he balled his hand, disappointed by his touch being turned away. "I gave you consent. We’re both adults. As long as you’re into it too, there’s no reason why we can’t."

"I can’t make love in the glow of a nightlight, Alfred," Arthur spoke too rapidly and desperately attempted to conceal his sudden loss of control. "I’m sorry, Alfred. I really am."

Arthur took a step back, grabbed his tweed overcoat that had been unceremoniously thrown over a plush chair, and moved toward the door.

Alfred realized he was about to be forced to face one of his fears. If he didn’t give into the darkness, he knew he would never see Arthur again. But as Arthur put his hand on the doorknob, Alfred’s voice stuck in his throat, and in that moment of hesitation, he was gone.

Suddenly, Alfred’s heart was shrouded in darkness; the light had just walked out. 


	28. Geronimo

_Come on, Arthur, you can do this. Just one step, two steps and you’re in. No harm, no foul._

Is it odd that I talk to myself? I don’t think so. It’s normal to give oneself a pep talk before they put themselves in circumstances that might accidentally elicit human interaction.

I took a deep breath and slipped in as quietly as I could. I immediately turned right and grinned at the wall of Doctor Who merchandise I came across. This was my reward for slipping in unnotice-

"Hey there, welcome to Hot Topic," came a voice from behind me, and I nearly panicked as I forced myself to turn around. There stood another man, probably also a university student, but I can assure you that was the only commonality I shared with this person. He was tall, and atop a long neck was bright red hair which assaulted you before you even noticed the piercings. Ears, nose, lips, you name it. God, this man had more holes stuck in him than there were Doctors.

"If you need anything, just let me know," he adjusted his glasses and smiled. 

I tried to give my own cheery smile in return but utterly failed. I could tell he was amused by this.

"I think you’d look pretty bamf in that Tardis hoodie," he pointed to the one item I’d managed to wrangle off the shelf before he caught me. "And for the record," he smirked, glancing down at my white ‘Allons-y’ t-shirt. "Ten’s my favorite too."

Then he oh-so-casually walked away as I blushed and quietly whispered:

"Fantastic."


	29. Hello, my name is Arthur

"Okay, so a nice guy sits down next to you at the bar and introduces himself. What do you say?"

Arthur blinked a few times at his friend as he played with the hem of his too tight v-neck shirt.

"Hello, my name is Arthur. I’m homosexual."

Alfred let out a dramatic sigh but he was grinning all the same. He walked over and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

"Art, I don’t care how good your ass looks in those leather pants, no one’s gonna pick you up if you introduce yourself like that."

Alfred smiled as Arthur averted his eyes and blushed, though it wasn’t because he’d made a fool of himself.

"What if I don’t want to be picked up?" Arthur mumbled a moment later and looked up to find Alfred still grinning, though now with a raised brow.

"Dude, anyone who wears that tight a shirt and pants is definitely thirsty," he said with a smirk and playfully slapped his friend’s rear. "Now come on, we’re gonna be late!"

Arthur reluctantly followed his best friend out, doing his best not to dwell on the fact that the only person he wanted touching his bum just had, and that there was only one man Arthur was thirsty for.


	30. Race Ya!

I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve got my boyfriend pinned up against the wall. He’s kissing me. I’m kissing him. Damn, my mind is a mess.

Arthur pulled away slowly, the smile on his face much more seductive than the no doubt lopsided and pleasantly sated one on mine. He took my hand from his hip and tugged it gently.

"Come. Is it this way?"

He was talking about my bedroom. Oh man, he wants to go in my bedroom! He wants to- wait, fuck, no not my bedroom!

"Hey, wait!" I said, pulling Arthur back into my arms and then pushing him not so gently against the wall. My face must have been burning hot, partially because I could see that my boyfriend was hard and that really turned me on, and also partially because I was desperately trying to think of a reason why we couldn’t go into my room.

"My eyes are up here, love," Arthur patted my cheek lightly as I realized I’d been staring at his pants. Damn, I must be even redder now than I was before. Think brain, think!

"Wait, uh, before we go in I want to know what you think about the color of these wall!" Oh yes, wonderful, self. Great diversion. "I’ve been thinking of painting them for awhile but if you like the beige I’ll totally keep the beig-"

"Alfred," Arthur cut me off again as he flicked my right temple. My loud "ow" went unheard. "Alfred, I don’t know how this could possibly be unclear, but I want to have sex with you."

Fuck. My pants definitely just got tighter. Damn it, Alfred, don’t laugh as a defense mechanism, I repeat, DO NOT LAUGH!

"Haha!" Fuck. Maybe you can still save this. Reach for his hip, good. Now run your other hand up and down his side, great. Okay, now dare to look up… Awesome he doesn’t look too angry! "Arthur, I know I’m dense but I’m not  _that_  dense.” Give him a reassuring smile. “Believe me, I really wanna do the do with you.”

"Then come on," Arthur ignored my punny rhyme and instead started pulling me down the hallway again. "I’m not getting any younger, Alfred."

"Wait!" I frantically pulled him back into my arms. God damn it, why was this so hard? "Why don’t we do it right here up against the wall?" I asked eagerly. "Or on the couch? Or on the kitchen counter?" Please, anything but the bed.

"Kinky," Arthur said simply without even batting an eyelash. "But our first time will happen on a bed or it won’t happen at all."

Arthur took the millisecond I was consumed with fear to tear away from me and go sprinting down the corridor. I chased after him, but my legs were jelly and by the time I’d caught up to him, he was already turning the knob on my bedroom door.

"Wait, Arthur, don’t!"

But it was too late and the door swung open to reveal my red racecar bed in all its childish glory.

I glanced over at my boyfriend with worry but I couldn’t pinpoint the expression on his face. “Arthur, I…”

"A racecar bed, is that all?" he said looking up at me as I awkwardly rubbed the back of my neck. "I should have known."

He took a few steps forward and I frowned. There went mind-blowing sex with my devilishly good-looking boyfriend.

"Arthur-" I started, but was cut off by the sound of mattress springs. Arthur had sat down on my bed and was slipping off his shoes.

"Well, don’t just stand there," he commanded, that seductive smile back in place. "Take me for a few laps around the track."


	31. Just Like Us

"Arthur!" Alfred almost tripped over himself as he ran up to the man. Arthur, in turn, barely had a moment to brace himself before he was lifted into the air.

"Alfred, put me down!" the smaller man yelled, but there was a slight raspyness in his voice that indicated he was relieved; relieved to see his boyfriend was doing well.

Both Alfred and Arthur had been waiting for this conference for months. Every year the famed pokemon professors gathered in a selected region and shared the information they’d gathered over the past 12 months. The professors always brought with them their protégés, and that’s where Alfred and Arthur came in.

"Professor Rowan," Alfred smiled at the older man as he set his boyfriend down, ignoring Arthur’s obvious embarrassment. "It’s nice to you again!"

"You as well," the professor replied stuffily as Arthur adjusted his button down shirt and patted his hair back into place. Alfred grinned. The two of them were so similar, he wasn’t surprised at all that Professor Rowan had chosen Arthur as his mentee.

"Alfred, don’t go running off like that!"

Alfred turned to find his own mentor, Professor Birch, out of breath behind him. Alfred blushed a bit, embarrassed that he’d completely forgotten the man he’d come here with.

"Sorry, professor, I just got kind of excited to see Arthur again." Alfred said, quickly losing his sense of shame and reaching for Arthur’s hand. "It’s been a while."

Professor Birch just smiled, he understood. After a moment he let loose a loud bark of a laugh and he and Alfred shared a smile. The two of them were always smiling.

"I know, Alfred, I know."

"Professor Birch, I daresay it’s been rather a long while since we’ve seen each other as well," Professor Rowan commented, sticking his hand out.

"Ah, still just as formal as ever, I see," Professor Birch said with a wide grin as he shook the man’s hand.

Professor Rowan looked his counterpart up and down, his eyes catching on the man’s capri pants. “Just as casual as ever, I see.”

"Come on," Alfred half-whispered as he tugged at Arthur’s arm. "Let’s give them some time to catch up."

"I somehow doubt your truest intentions are to give our mentors some privacy," Arthur replied but quickened his step to keep up with his boyfriend as they turned a corner. "Though to be perfectly honest, I’m rather surprised you’ve been able to control yourself this long. Last time you nearly bent me over the counter when you saw me at the Pokemon Cent-"

"Ahahaha!" Alfred let loose a nervous laugh as he suddenly halted his feet, sending Arthur a few inches forward. "Francis, Professor Sycamore, how are you?" Alfred desperately tried to bury Arthur’s words, but both the men that stood across from the couple were smiling.

"Might I recommend a room at the Hotel Richissime?" Professor Sycamore said with a hand on his hip and a smirk on his face. "Though do buy him dinner beforehand, won’t you, Alfred?"

Arthur stood stock still, his face burning, but Alfred just laughed it off.

"You’re a riot Professor," he said simply, squeezing Arthur’s hand to indicate everything was fine. "I’m really looking forward to your talk on Mega-Evolution. I was stoked when I found out the conference was gonna be in Kalos this year."

"Yes, well, occasionally we do need to hold the annual meeting somewhere fashionable unlike last year’s conference in that tiny little excuse for a city," Francis, Professor Sycamore’s protégé, said with a smirk aimed at Arthur. He was always trying to rile up the future professor of the Sinnoh region.

"Sandgem Town is nothing of the sort," Arthur nearly shouted, but managed to control himself in the presence of a professor. "Not everyone wants to live in a city so big they get lost the moment they walk outside."

"Ah, well, I take it you’re adjusting well to Lumiose, then?" Professor Sycamore said with a grin, though lacking the bite of Francis’ words.

Arthur sighed and surrendered to his superior.

"It’s lovely."

"It’s great!"

He and Alfred replied simultaneously.

"And if you don’t mind, we’re gonna go exploring while we’ve still got the opportunity," Alfred quickly came up with a figurative escape rope. "I doubt there’ll be much time to do touristy things once the conference begins tomorrow."

"Of course," Professor Sycamore said, running a hand through his dark hair.

Francis shot a knowing smile in Arthur’s direction. “Enjoy yourselves.”

"We will!" Alfred replied, pulling Arthur right along. He was desperate for some private time with his boyfriend. It had been 6 months since they’d seen each other in person. Holo caster conversations didn’t count!

"Finally," Alfred said in relief as the two of them stepped out of the Lumiose City Pokemon Lab and into the sunlight. He turned to look at Arthur, truly look at him, and couldn’t help but smile. "God, you’re so gorgeous. Why can’t I see this beautiful face everyday?"

Arthur’s cheeks pinked, though this time the embarrassment didn’t feel so bad.

"Because you wanted to study pokemon habitats in the Hoenn region and I wanted to study pokemon evolution in the Sinnoh region," Arthur said with a small smile of his own, tucking a lock of Alfred’s hair behind his ear.

"Damn," Alfred replied breathily and leaned in toward his boyfriend. Just as the gap was nearly closed, there was a small flash of light from one of Alfred’s pokeballs and both men pulled back. In a moment a small "oof" escaped Arthur and the mentee looked down to find Alfred’s Spinda had released itself and was tripping over itself to say hello.

"Just like you," Arthur smiled fondly at his boyfriend as he leaned down to pet the Spinda’s head. "Hello, love, how are you?" He bent forward and pressed a gentle kiss between the pokemon’s large ears.

"Hey, how come you didn’t greet me like that?" Alfred asked with a small pout on his face.

"Perhaps if you were half as cute as your darling Spinda here," Arthur said with a smirk as he leant up again. In that moment another small flash of light lit up the area as one of Arthur’s pokemon freed itself. A minute later his Castform was floating between them, transformed into its eternal rain form even though it was not raining.

"Casty!" Alfred said with a massive grin, and the moment the Castform saw him, it too smiled and then proceeded to transform into its sun form. Arthur stood there stunned.

"I still don’t understand how you manage to do that. He’s always in rain form with me."

"Maybe it’s because I actually smile at him," Alfred said, petting the small pokemon. "Or maybe he just agrees that your shitty attitude rains on everyone’s parade."

Arthur huffed, and the moment he was ready to retort, a more intense light went off, this time the force of two combined pokemon emerging. When the light faded, so did Arthur’s anger and Alfred’s pout. In between them, two small pokemon, Arthur’s Minun and Alfred’s Plusle had run to hug each other. Small sparks of excitement lit up their red and blue cheeks.

"Now that’s true love," Alfred said with a dopey grin on his face. He put an arm around Arthur’s shoulder and squeezed him.

"They’ve missed each other terribly," Arthur said softly, watching as the two electric pokemon continued to squeak excitedly at each other.

"Our pokemon are just like us, aren’t they?" Alfred asked, pulling Arthur close and kissing his ear.

"If you’re asking if I missed you, the answer is yes," Arthur said, turning to fully face Alfred. "And if you’re asking if I love you," he said a tad quieter, tapering off just to make Alfred a bit uncomfortable. "Then the answer is also yes." He leaned up slightly and placed a gentle kiss on Alfred’s lips. The taller man smiled into it, and as they pulled away, the smile had transferred itself onto Arthur’s face.

"But Spinda’s still cuter than you."

Alfred just smiled, as large and as silly as his Spinda.


	32. What are brothers for?

"Oh my god, Matt," Alfred pulled his brother aside in the kitchen. He ignored the fact that Matthew had an armful of dirty dishes, and proceeded to ignore as a glass tipped precariously close to the edge of a plate.

"What?" Matthew hissed with no real measure. He was used to this behaviour from his brother.

"There’s this really, _really_ cute boy at table six,” Alfred leaned awkwardly against one of the dirty dish bins and Matthew noted the nervous smile on his lips. “Really cute.”

"So ask him out?" Matthew suggested like it was the most obvious thing in the world. But Alfred may have been the most oblivious person on the planet.

"He’s eating with his whole family, Matt!" Alfred complained as his brother dumped the dirty dishes and moved to the soda tap. "He’s got his parents and like three brothers there. I can’t just lean over the table and ask him if he’d like to get coffee."

"No, but maybe you could get table eleven coffee, considering they asked for it at least 10 minutes ago," Matthew replied passive aggressively, as he put two Diet Cokes and a gingerale on a tray. Whenever he and Alfred worked the same shift he always wound up waiting on and busing most of his brother’s tables.

"Matt, this is serious! Dire even!" Alfred exclaimed, grabbing Matthew’s shoulders and shaking them. "Help a brother out! A real, literal brother!"

* * *

 

The whole Kirkland family was snickering as Mr. Kirkland removed his credit card from the check holder. The whole family was laughing, except of course Arthur whose face was redder than the gazpacho he’d just downed and was ready to throw back up.

How could that stupid waiter have written that on the check? _“To the short boy at the end of the table: you’re really cute! Have a great day! -Alfred :)”_ That was hardly professional! And to think his family found it such a riot, they’d tipped him an extra $10 made even more bile rise in his throat.

"Hey, Arthur, you wanna say goodbye to your boyfriend before we leave?" William smirked as he punched his youngest brother in the shoulder. 

Arthur glared at his brother, and only spared a second glance back into the dining room. He spotted their tall and lanky waiter easily, and the moment their eyes met, the waiter tripped over himself and dropped the bucket full of clean silverware he was carrying.

"No," Arthur spat, as he turned back toward his brother and slipped out of the restaurant. He wasn’t sure if it was the food or the situation making him sick.


	33. Look at the Mess You’ve Made

"Daddy!"

Little Charlie usually did run up to me when I came back from work, but not usually with such big brown eyes and a worried expression across his face.

“Well, hey there buddy!” I grinned at him and put down my briefcase to ruffle his hair. “What’s up?” I asked, lifting him into my arms. 

"Papa is mad…" he said in a quiet voice just as Arthur appeared in the hallway. He managed to look menacing even while wearing the bright blue apron covered in hand prints and paint scribbles Charlie and I had given him for Father’s Day.

"Yes, I am," he said, scrunching a rag he was holding in his fist. He’d likely been cooking or scrubbing dishes.

Charlie squirmed in my arms so I put him down and he ran past his father into the living room and hid behind the couch. I turned my eyes back to Arthur nervously.

"Hey, honey," I tried, kissing his forehead. Wrong move. If anything that just irritated Arthur further.

"I should just turn around and go back to the florist, shouldn’t I?"

Arthur clenched and unclenched his hand.

"Alfred, do you know what your son did this afternoon?"

My eyes flitted over to the couch but Charlie was still hiding.

"I’m gonna assume it wasn’t a macaroni sculpture considering how pissed you look," I said, trying to keep quiet. Arthur, however, couldn’t have cared less about the volume of this argument.

"He peed all over the bathroom."

"What?" I asked confused. "But he’s been potty trained for years."

"Yes, but _apparently_ his Dad told him it was good to break the rules every once in awhile,” he said with absolutely no humor in his voice. “Daddy told him it’s healthy to be rebellious.” 

The color drained from my face.

"Shoot. Arthur, we were playing Chutes and Ladders. I only said that so he could spin again and not slide down that one really awful chute near the end that takes you all the way back to the begin-"

"I don’t very well care why you said it!" Arthur yelled, then stilled himself and smoothed out his apron. He seemed to have realized how loud he was being and continued in an angry whisper. "I don’t care why you said it, you’d just better fix it."

I stared at him but no sympathy was returned in his eyes. He stalked off but I knew he wasn’t done with me yet. A minute later he returned with a mop and bucket and a box of tissues.

"This is for you," he said shoving the mop and bucket into my arms. "To clean up the mess your son’s made." In a moment the anger disappeared from Arthur’s face and a Loki-like smile spread over his lips. "And this," he said, placing the box of tissues on top of the pile in my arms. "Is to clean up your own mess when you sleep on the sofa tonight."


	34. Are You Ready?

I heard Francis step inside but I didn’t look up. I didn’t do anything actually besides clasp the edge of the vanity tighter until my knuckles were turning white.

"Arthur?" Francis asked, for once not condescending. I suppose even a snake could be docile on certain occasions.

"What am I doing, Francis?" I questioned aloud, without considering the consequences. This time I did look up. Francis, in his navy suit with a sparkling champagne colored tie, was staring at me with concern. He leaned against the right side of the vanity and crossed his arms.

"What are you doing? It appears you’re working yourself up for some reason unknown to me," he said casually. He might have flipped his hair had it not been neatly tied up with a ribbon that matched his suit.

I squeezed the table tighter and in a jolt of energy, stood, toppling the wicker chair I’d been sitting in.

"This, Francis!" I screamed, motioning to my pressed tuxedo, my fancy Italian shoes, my 2 hour in-the-making tamed hair, which I so desperately wanted to run my hand through. "What the hell am I doing?"

I took a step back and nearly tripped over the toppled chair. Francis caught my arm and pulled me forward. He let go and I briefly straightened myself, but I knew I was still a mess.

Francis rightened the fallen chair and sat me down. He was staring at me with worry, I could tell, even as I averted my eyes.

"I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t deserve him. I shouldn’t get him all tied up in me and my problems."

Francis leaned down so we were at eye level. There was no avoiding his gaze anymore.

"It’s a little too late for that, mon cher," he said in a hushed voice that he’d always reserved for moments like this, moments when I was scared. 

I glanced away but Francis quickly caught my chin and forced me to look at him.

"Arthur, Alfred loves you and you love him. There’s no reason to get cold feet now. You’ve already proven yourselves to each other," he said softly. I blinked, fisting my hands.

"But-"

"No buts, Arthur," Francis said, cutting me off. "I did not buy a very expensive Armani suit for a wedding that’s been seven years in the making just for you to call it off now in a fit of nerves." He offered a small smile. "Believe it or not, I do want you to be happy, Arthur."

I didn’t know what to say. Everything Francis had said was true, but it was so deeply ingrained in me to disagree with him that I found myself saying nothing. It didn’t matter. Francis was leaning up and offering me a hand. I took it and stood up. Francis took a moment to adjust my pitch black bow tie and then took a step back to admire his work.

"Perfect."

I had to smile. Just a little one. I wouldn’t have Francis thinking he’d solved everything.

"Are you ready to marry Alfred?" he said, putting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing. In a rare moment of affection, I put my own hand atop Francis’ and squeezed back.

"We can’t have your expensive Armani suit go to waste, now can we?"


	35. Damn Dissertation

"Don’t squint, it’s not good for your eyes," I looked up from the text I’d been scrutinizing and smiled.

"Arthur," I said with a grin. I didn’t need to see him to know that voice, but it did help when I reached for my folded glasses and put them back to use.

"When did I ever give you permission to call me anything but Professor Kirkland?" Arthur asked as he whipped around the table to stand at my side. He glanced down at the documents I was working with but didn’t dare touch them.

"I don’t think you ever did," I said with a laugh as I started peeling off a cotton glove. I handed it to Arthur. "Take a look. The Herald, circa 1812."

I watched Arthur squeeze his delicate little hand into the glove and pick up the aging parchment. He looked at it, but he wasn’t truly analyzing it, fretting over every detail like the perfectionist professor I’d met six years ago. Something else was on his mind.

"Anything bothering you?" I tried to ask when his eyes peeked over the top of the document. He lowered it then, careful to be gentle with it. He exhaled through his nose and glanced back up at me.

"You’re nearly done with your dissertation," Arthur said matter-of-factly, and I didn’t really know what to say. He hadn’t asked it as a question. Arthur was my professional mentor. He’d been the professor I’d applied to work under and who’d been teaching me everything there was to know for the last half decade.

"Yeah, three months and then I can finally put Doc. Alfred Jones on my papers," I said lightheartedly but Arthur’s smile was short and fleeting. "What’s wrong, Arthur?" I said immediately. His strange behavior was putting me on edge.

"Have you given any thought to where you’ll be teaching?" Arthur replied, instead, completely disregarding my question.

"I haven’t really thought about that yet," I said. "Guess I was gonna wait until I have my fancy diploma first."

Arthur didn’t smile at all that time and when I reached out for his hand, he backed away.

"Ah, well, we’ll miss you here, I suppose," Arthur seemed to force out of his throat. "The history department, I mean."

"Arthur," I stood up from my chair and this time when I reached out for the professor, I managed to to grab the edge of his sleeve. "Arthur, you make it sound like I’ll never see you again," I said with a sad smile. "The history department, I mean."

"We’ll be sad to lose you," is all he managed to mumble out before he started to squirm in my grip. He succeeded in breaking free from me and headed toward the stairs. "I shouldn’t be disturbing you. You’re working." He slipped up the stairs with only one quick glance back and a "Good luck, Alfred."

I stared at Arthur’s disappearing shadow as he left the archives and did all I could not to chase after him. Stupid Arthur, making everything so much more complicated than it needed to be. He had a doctorate, he should be smarter than this.

I fisted my hands and went back to the long since abandoned document.

How could Arthur be so dense? How could he not know that I had no intention of going anywhere? That the only reason I never made a move was that I worried the student-teacher dynamic wouldn’t make for a meaningful relationship?

How could Professor Kirkland not know that I wanted to call him so much more than Arthur?


	36. Where?

"Why, you’re awake."

I blinked a few times. My head was fuzzy and I felt drowsy. Was I lying in bed? But that voice didn’t sound like Mom or Dad or Matt’s.

"Hello."

I rubbed at my eyes and opened them to find a blond figure there. Everything about him was pale from his skin to his hair to his soft looking wings- wait wings?

"Who are you?" I asked, suddenly vibrantly awake. Where was I? I looked around. It was dreary and cold. I’d been laying on some sort of metal table.

"How are you, Alfred?"

I turned my eyes back on the angel wearily, as he took a seat next to me on the iron slate.

"How do you know my name?" I answered him with another question. I had a lot of questions for the seraph.

The angel didn’t seem surprised or angry at the fact that I hadn’t answered him. Instead he just lifted his arm and twisted his wrist.

"I checked your tag," he replied easily. I looked down and realized there was a piece of paper hanging off my wrist by a string.

"What is this?" I asked aloud, as I lifted it up to read it. The angel answered just as it dawned on me.

"Your coroner’s tag."

I glanced up at him, my lips dry and eyes wide. An angel? A coroner’s tag? My brain started piecing it together.

"Hush, darling, don’t cry," the angel spoke gently, wrapping his soft wings around me. It was comforting when I hadn’t even realized my lip was trembling and my eyes were wet. He took my hand between his palms squeezed it.

"My name is Arthur," he said in a fittingly angelic voice as he rubbed tender circles into my thumb. I stared at him confused and distraught but the angel only offered me a soft smile.

"It’s alright, love, I’m here to guide you," he said with bright sincerity glinting in his green eyes.

"Where?" I asked lifting my other hand to wipe at my nose.

The angel said nothing, unfurling his wings and pointing a hand toward the sky.


	37. A Ruined Kingdom

We fall like angels onto clouds, but clouds are not as soft, and we are not nearly as sweet. He kisses me and it’s heavenly, but also sinful, incredibly sinful, and I’d trade my soul to the devil at that moment for 100,10, just 1 more kiss from him.

But then he smiles, not like an angel or the devil, but like a softhearted man who carries a heavy heart. Because that’s precisely what he is, a boy who was forced into adulthood too fast. One who spent puberty fighting a revolution, and adolescence fighting himself. His mind is darker than when I first met him, but his smile is equally as bright. There’s a fire burning there that doesn’t destroy, but creates. It gives way to others' smiles and like a virus, he’s contagious. I’ve caught him and there’s no vaccine.

The tip of his nose is soft and warm as he nudges my cheek, and his lips are gentle as they greet my neck. For someone so brash, his touch is a delicate hello, and also a tender goodbye. He talks to me all night, in every language, all of which I’m able to translate and understand with his guidance. He’s a linguist with his fingers and his tongue.

He falls asleep beside me, the crown of his head leaning against me. He’s left himself in my care, as I’ve many times left myself in his. I turn into him and fall deeper into our sea of clouds, our feathery pillows, and his warm embrace. It is small, hardly an empire or a nation, but this bed is our own little kingdom, ruined by nothing more than soiled sheets.


	38. Conceal. Don’t Feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eruri from SnK is a side pairing in this story but you don't need to know anything about Attack on Titan to read it.

Alfred sat in one of the two comfy armchairs in the corner of his local Starbucks, sipping at a vanilla mocha. He had his laptop out but wasn’t typing or scrolling through Facebook. No, he was doing something a bit stranger than that.

Alfred tilted the screen to make sure no one else could see what he was up to. There was always a constant risk of being caught doing this in public, but Alfred had mastered his poker face, and so long as no other patrons caught sight of his screen, then he was flying high.

Arthur, a twenty-something graduate student sat in the other arm chair across from Alfred, sipping at some incredibly weak tea. He wasn’t there for the beverages, however. Nor was he truly grading undergraduate papers the way he appeared to be. No, Arthur was at the coffee shop for a completely different reason. You see, Arthur liked to people watch, or people listen, really. Arthur was special, he could read minds, and when he was in the mood, he enjoyed infiltrating this establishment and listening to the moanings and groanings of the baristas, the anxieties of the businessmen on their way to work, and on the exceptionally good day, the new idea for a novel some young hipster sat back typing up on his Macbook behind his thick black framed glasses. This was what Arthur lived for, thrived on, really. What great joy it brought him to expose others’ secrets without them ever knowing.

Arthur lifted his eyes from a paper and scoured the room. He came across a teenager, perhaps in his last year of high school or first year in college, who was seated across from him in an identical plush chair. He was the perfect victim, Arthur thought. Those who wore straight faces always held the dirtiest secrets. He honed himself in on the unsuspecting boy and let the lad’s thoughts flow into him.

_"Don’t be cross with me, you stupid brute. You’re the one that nearly got himself killed," Levi said, pointing a finger accusingly at the Commander._

How odd, thought Arthur, as he listened closely to what was filling up the boy’s mind. He must be reading, Arthur concluded from the way the boy’s thoughts were laid out. Nobody thinks in third person.

_"Shut up!" Erwin cried in reply, as he peeled off Levi’s measly finger. He shoved the Lance Corporal’s right shoulder, then his left, and eventually settled for angrily grabbing at his cravat. "Shut up, Levi!"_

_The shorter man looked up but did not say a word. He smiled and winked as the words rolled off his tongue._

_"Make me."_

_That was all it took, those two words were the invitation to light a match and start a fire. Erwin pushed Levi against the wall and the Corporal immediately threw his arms around the Commander’s neck. Their lips met hastily, quicker than either of them could draw a blade, and settled together, Erwin worming his tongue into Levi’s mouth. The shorter of the two accepted this, but didn’t plan to go down so easily. No, Levi had always fought dirty. As the Commander busied himself in tasting every part of the Corporal’s mouth, Levi lifted a knee and not-so-gently applied pressure to Erwin’s groin. The Commander pulled away to let out a short and needy gasp._

"My god, is he reading some sort of gay erotic book?" Arthur thought to himself. The mind reader was now struggling to keep the smile off his face, and the chuckles from burbling up. But he had to stay quiet, else he let on to what he was doing. So Arthur discreetly lifted a hand to his face and hid his grin from view. He focused back in on the teenager and tried his best to appear as though he truly was invested in the stack of papers that lay in front of him.

_"Fuck you, Levi," Erwin bit out once the moan had left his throat. He dove right onto the Corporal’s neck before the man could even respond._

_"You’d certainly like that, wouldn’t you?" Levi whispered, darkly, seductively, which only made Erwin increase the speed at which he nibbled and assaulted his partner’s neck. "Better than the rush you get when you slay a titan. Isn’t that what you said after the first time we screwed around? You get quite the joy out of fucking me."_

_The Commander lifted his head and glared at Levi._

_"How many times am I gonna have to tell you to shut up tonight?"_

_The Corporal, for his part, only cocked his head and feigned surprise._

_"I thought you like the sounds I make. The screams and cries and moans, like someone drawing their last breath," Levi said with an evil smile, that did little more than simply tighten the Commander’s pants further. Levi did not fail to notice this._

_"It seems our troops aren’t the only thing headed south."_

Arthur laughed. It was sharp and sudden, but it was out before he could stop it and in a moment all the other patrons were staring at him, including erotica boy.

"Terribly sorry," Arthur immediately followed up his outburst with an apology, though it seemed less than genuine behind that wide grin. He went back to his papers, and the other customers returned to their own drinks and thoughts, but still Arthur couldn’t stop smiling.

How fantastic it was to reveal what others concealed deep within the darkest crevices of their mind.

How fantastic it was to hear a teenage boy read gay porn in a coffee shop without a care in the world.

How fantastic it was to have secrets, when you thought no one was listening.


	39. Are You Mad?

_£30,000 a year? Arthur, are you mad?_

Apparently I was, because that’s what my parents had said when I told them I wanted to go to an American university. I pleaded with them for days, weeks, months, and ultimately they let me go on the condition that I’d find a way to pay at least a fifth of that hefty sum. So that’s why I’d gotten a job at the university’s food delivery service. I saw a flyer advertising a position open to betas only, which paid relatively well, and I was sold. I didn’t inquire much about the details when I was first hired. No, I didn’t think twice about the fact  that I’d be delivering dining hall meals to omegas in heat who were unable to leave their rooms. I’d been so caught up in the excitement of finding a job that I tuned everything else out. That was, of course, until I stood in front of room 346 of the omega dorm building with three containers full of food, staring blankly at the door.

_Do I just knock?_

I shuffled my feet while contemplating this decision.

_I should just knock. I mean, he ordered the food, he must know I was coming._

I lifted my hand, but the moment it was about to make contact with the metal door, I pulled it back.

_Oh, but what if he’s… busy?_

I blushed at this, my thoughts rushing back to my secondary school sex ed classes. At the ripe age of thirteen I’d learned more about omega, alpha, and beta bodies than I ever truly cared to. I was certain I would forever be scarred by that video they forced us to watch of an alpha knotting inside an omega.

"Hey."

A voice brought me out of my thoughts and I realized the door had opened ever so slightly and that a blonde head was peeking out of it. I flushed at realizing the omega had been standing there watching me for who knows how long.

"I’m terribly sorry," I rushed out, handing him the plastic bag of food.

He grinned as he took the bag from me, though he didn’t open the door further.

"You’ve been standing out here for ten minutes," he said with a smile. I in turn tried to hide my embarrassment at being caught staring stupidly at his door, but I didn’t do much for my cause when I stammered out:

"H-how did you know that?"

He grinned again and tapped his nose.

"My sense of smell really beefs up during heats. I could smell the food outside." I stood there looking alarmed but the omega just continued to smile. "I could smell you too, beta. Are you a first year?"

"Yes," I answered, trying to quell my blush. How on earth was this boy making me so flustered? I felt like an omega in heat- wait.

"My name’s Alfred," he said with that continuous smile, sticking his hand out. I shook it, choosing not to mention the fact that it was wet, and hoping to God it was only sweat. "I’d invite you in," he said with a cheeky grin, "But it kinda stinks."

I’m quite sure I must have made a rather strange face at the moment. A sort of mixture of confusion, and repulsion at his vulgarity, but at the same time, I wanted to laugh. I think I settled on raising my brows and pressing my lips into a firm line as the omega let out a laugh.

"You’re cute. I’ll have to get more food brought over if you’re the delivery boy."

I ignored how warm my ears felt. The omega didn’t know what he was saying! He was in heat, it wasn’t his fault.

"I think you have more than enough," I motioned, pointing to the bag of food. He really had ordered more than his fair share… unless. A thought struck me.

"Unless of course you’re eating for two!" I backtracked, hoping I hadn’t offended him. Of course he ordered three entrees! He was no doubt with child!

I stood there wide-eyed and horrified, but to my surprise the omega just started to laugh, and laugh, and laugh. Eventually I calmed enough to ask why he was laughing and he just fixed me with a wacky grin.

"I’m not pregnant. I wouldn’t be in heat if I was!" he said with a chuckle and I felt like a complete moron. How had that thought not dawned on me earlier? "I always eat this much."

I didn’t say anything to that, quite honestly out of fear that I’d say something else incredibly stupid. I just wanted this experience to be over. I wanted the omega to go back into his room so I could dart outside, back to the dining hall where I could tell them they could take their delivery boy position and shove it up their-

"Maybe next time I’ll order for two though, and you can join me."

I glanced up at the confident omega who had not stopped smiling through this whole conversation. I opened my mouth to say something, but before my thoughts could filter into words, he spoke up again.

"One last thing before you go," he started and I managed to close my mouth to avoid looking like an idiot any longer than necessary. "Tell me your name."

Well, that was a question I could answer without fucking up.

"Arthur."

The omega’s smile spread across his face when I told him, and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why. I definitely hadn’t gotten that query wrong, but had I still somehow managed to make a fool of myself?

"Great. Now I’ll know whose name to moan in between strokes."

He said this quickly, and with a wink and one final smile he was gone, slipping back behind the door marked 346. I stood there mortified, my cheeks now as warm as my ears, and my palms as sweaty as Alfred’s had been.

Maybe I truly was mad, because the first thought that flitted into my head at that very moment was to thank the university for charging an ungodly tuition, and forcing me to take this job and meet the incredibly vulgar, though charismatic, omega.

How mad I must have been to be wooed by an omega, and how insatiably mad, to have enjoyed it.


	40. No More

A devious smile took over Alfred’s face as the band paused and the lead singer took a swig from his water glass. Alfred, the predator he was, counted in his head, 8, 9, 10 seconds before he took a step forward and pounced on his prey. The singer had just taken a seat on the end of the stage and was thanking the bar tender for a shot glass full of amber liquid that had been provided to him.

"Hey there," Alfred said with a sly smile. "That was some set you put on."

The singer blinked at him, big, green eyes that mesmerized Alfred, before he downed the shot in one gulp.

"Thank you."

"Let me buy you a drink," Alfred followed up without a moment’s hesitation. "What do you like? Scotch? Bourbon?"

"Absinthe," the young singer said, boredly turning his empty glass around in his fingers. Alfred’s eyes widened in surprise and he blinked, but after a moment he recovered and ordered two shots from the bar tender.

"Wow, absinthe," the American said with a fox-like smile as the singer looked at him disinterestedly. "So do you like your men as strong as you like your alcohol?"

The singer raised his eyebrows. Alfred grinned.

"Tell me your name," the singer said after a moment, not answering the question. Alfred was not deterred.

"Alfred," he beamed, winking at the singer as the man made to get up.

"Alfred," the singer tried it out on his tongue and the accent had the American swooning. "Do you mind if I call you ‘Jack’?"

Alfred furrowed his eyebrows.

"Sure, I guess. Do you like giving your beaus nicknames?" he asked jokingly, trying not to sound too unsettled.

"Oh, yes, and I have a song I’d like to sing just for you, Jack," the singer said with a soft smile as he stood fully and made his way back over to the mic. Alfred too returned to his seat and stared up at the stage, eagerly awaiting the next set. He watched as the singer whispered something to the rest of the band and then returned to center stage, tapping his foot, as a steady drum beat filled the air. The singer sought Alfred out in the crowd and winked at him, and Alfred, so giddy with excitement, nearly spilled the drink he’d ordered all over himself when he heard the words pour out of the band leader’s mouth.

_Hit the road, Jack_

_And don’t you come back no more, no more, no more, no more_

_Hit the road, Jack_

_And don’t you come back no more_


	41. I’ve waited 85 million years

Alfred kicked his feet up on his desk as his eyes drifted from the blinking cursor of his computer screen to the bone he held delicately in his hand. He ran his thumb gently over it for the millionth time, feeling the slight bumps and indents, and smiling as he thought about his new discovery. Countless days and hours Alfred had poured into finding and scrutinizing the bones of the 85 million year old vechiosaurus and finally his work had paid off. He’d discovered quill knobs one day while inspecting the ancient fossil, and that was not to be taken it lightly. It meant the vechiosauraus had feathers! Alfred might have just discovered a link between current day birds and dinosaurs! He almost certainly had the Association of Paleontologists, Paleontologist of the Year Award in the bag once he finished typing up this report. His eyes flashed back to the screen. Yeah, all he had to do was finish this report. All he had to do was type up his 68 page findings…

Alfred was startled as the door to his office was suddenly thrown open. He would have nearly dropped his precious vechiosaur forearm had he not held tightly to it.

"Alfred," the man who had entered said smoothly, as he immediately started to pick up this and that strewn about paper, and rearranged them in neat stacks. "Just because you spend half your time shoveling away towards the pits of hell doesn’t mean your office must look like one of your dig sites."

Alfred looked up and his eyes softened. He found Professor Kirkland staring back at him, the law studies professor who he’d first met 4 years ago when they’d bumped into each other at one of the campus’ many libraries. Professor Kirkland, who had the nicest green eyes, a remarkably firm jaw, and one of the sourest attitudes imaginable was not the person Alfred expected he would lay awake thinking about at night.

"You can’t just come in here like that, Arthur," Alfred tried to sound angry, but he hadn’t seen Professor Kirkland in the 4 months since he went out on an excavation and man did he miss the sexy British voice that sang from those pretty pink lips. "I almost dropped a very important discovery!"

Arthur wasn’t even inconspicuous as his eyes flitted down to Alfred’s blue jeans. The paleontology professor’s face flared up, but he tried to remain steadfast in his attempt at anger. He wasn’t gonna think about the fact that his trip had kept him away for a quarter of a year, or that he hadn’t slept with Arthur in nearly 5 months. No, none of that was going to affect him right now.

"Sue me," Professor Kirkland said with an eye roll, and the fact that Arthur was a lawyer making a law joke was not lost Alfred. His anger melted away along with his resolve.

"I missed you," Alfred said as gently put the fossil down and stood up. The Law Studies professor followed Alfred with his eyes, as he scooted passed him to shut the door. "So much," Alfred said with a grin as he wrapped his arms around Arthur’s small waist.

"If all you wanted was a bone, I could have given that to you," Professor Kirkland said point-blank, and Alfred had to laugh. Who knew lawyers actually had a sense of humor?

"I’ll take that as your ‘I missed you too.’"

Alfred pulled his partner toward him and hugged him as hard as could. It was delayed, and mediocre at best, but Arthur did eventually return his hug.

"Do you have plans for tonight?" Arthur asked in a much softer tone, his attorney persona slowly falling away. "I was thinking you might like a home cooked meal and perhaps a little fun."

Alfred looked over at the still blank word document on his computer and then back to Arthur.

"That sounds amazing," he replied with a smile as he took Arthur’s hand and squeezed it.

They stepped out the door together and Alfred didn’t give his fossil a second thought as Arthur led them toward the parking garage on the other side of campus. The world had waited 85 million years for this discovery, but it could wait an extra day.

**Omake**

Alfred had his head in Arthur’s lap, but his eyes on his Nintendo DS as the couple sat together in comfortable silence.

"Aw yeah!" Alfred grinned out of nowhere. "Finally found the Plesio neck! That means I finished the Plesiosaur!" Alfred looked up expectantly, with his usual child-like grin, and Arthur was forced to smile.

"You may have a PhD in paleontology, but I’m convinced you learned it all from Animal Crossing."


	42. Define Art

"Alfred, go away. I’m writing."

"Sure, if you consider staring at a computer screen for hours writing."

Arthur turned around with a glare, though it was relatively difficult to look intimidating while swiveling around in a spiny chair. He lowered his glasses down the bridge of his nose and stared, unimpressed, at his boyfriend.

"I’m thinking. That’s half of the artistic process," he started, then swiveled back around. "Not that you’d know anything about art."

"I know about culinary arts," Alfred said, undeterred, as he moved a manuscript aside and sat down on Arthur’s desk. He picked up a pen and placed it atop his upper lip in an attempt to balance it. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Alfred, following the directions on the back of a box of cake mix does not make you an expert in culinary arts."

"No? What about that Cheeto-splosion I made for our Super Bowl party last year?" Alfred said with a grin, as the pen keeled over and fell to the floor. Arthur leant over and picked it up.

"Firstly, that was your Super Bowl party, and secondly, that artificial cheese disaster could not have been further from the definition of art.” He poked his boyfriend on the cheek with the butt of his pen. “Now do get out, love. I’ve been in a rut and I really need time to think.”

"Alright," Alfred acquiesced with a soft smile as he slid off the desk. "I wouldn’t want to interrupt the flow of your artistic genius." He brushed a few strands of Arthur’s hair behind his ear and bent down to press a kiss to his forehead. Alfred moved down his boyfriend’s face, from his forehead, to the tip of his nose that precariously balanced his lover’s glasses, to the man’s right cheek, then left, and ultimately came to his lips where he lingered. When he lent up again, Alfred had the usual dopey grin on his face. "Though, I am gonna have to stop you soon. Dinner’s in an hour."

Alfred winked, and as he took a step back, toward the door, Arthur suddenly stood and reached for his wrist.

"Alfred," he started, as the man turned around perplexed. "I was wrong. You might know a thing or two about art."

"Really?" Alfred asked, his eyebrows rising to hide amongst his golden bangs.  
  
"Yes," Arthur replied, rolling his eyes once more as he lifted a hand to Alfred’s fringe and mimicked the motion his boyfriend had taken earlier, leaning up on the tips of his toes to press a kiss to the man’s forehead. When Arthur pulled away, he was wearing Alfred’s smile. "You seem to know your way around the art of kissing."


	43. Lay Down and Beg for Forgiveness

Alfred groaned as he rolled over in bed. He blinked open a weary eye and groped around on the floor for his cell phone.

"What time is it?" He mumbled groggily as he gave up the search and turned back to face his bed partner who was, for some reason, no longer in bed. In fact he was fully dressed and staring at Alfred with a sad smile.

"Adventure time," he said slowly, almost clumsily, and Alfred smiled.

"Hey, I finally got you to say it," he said as gleefully as someone who woke earlier than the sun possibly could. "What’s the occasion?" he asked, rubbing the base of his palms against his sleep-filled eyes.

Arthur’s moves were jerky as he clambered onto the bed to straddle his boyfriend who blinked open dreary sky blue orbs. He seemed confident in his movements but at the same time wholly uncomfortable.

"Woah," Alfred grinned as he wrapped two lanky arms around Arthur’s thin waist. "Is it my birthday?" He smiled giddily and tried to pull the man forward but Arthur pressed unwillingly against his chest.

"No. I would never be so cruel as to do this on your birthday," the Brit said quietly, his confidence dropping off with the last few words.

"Arthur?" Alfred asked sitting up straighter. He registered now that he was not waking up to a lovely round of morning sex, but something much more serious.

"Alfred," the man in his lap started, looking up with wide green eyes. He brushed aside a few locks of golden bedhead that had fallen haphazardly when Alfred sat up. "You are a treasure to behold and I was a very lucky man to have found you."

The American didn’t like the sound of that. He didn’t like where this was going at all. He reached out to grab his boyfriend’s left wrist and the man let him.

"Arthur, what are you talking about?"

"Treasure, Alfred. You know. Like jewels and crystals."

"What, like pirates and stuff?" Alfred asked with uncertainty, rubbing soothing circles into the man’s wrist. Maybe if he played along the Brit would calm down.

"Yes, precisely, but pirates were foolish," Arthur muttered, looking away from those beautiful blue gems Alfred called eyes. "They never realized how invaluable treasure is. They stole it, they spent it, they did not know how much it was truly worth."

He took a deep breath and gazed back into those muddled blues with his own shaky stare.

"They never realized," Arthur started up again in a voice so soft Alfred had to strain to hear it. When the Englishman reached up a hand to cup Alfred’s cheek, the American allowed it, his own fingers melting away from Arthur’s wrist. "That treasure is something to be cherished and protected."

"Arthur," Alfred replied tenderly though with a hint of obvious confusion in his voice. He reached up to lay his hand on the one that rested on his cheek. "It’s alright. We’ll be each other’s treasure. We’ll protect each other."

In that moment, Arthur, already so fragile, nearly broke. His wet eyes widened and his hand tensed where it lay between Alfred’s baby smooth cheek and his roughly calloused hand. He took a deep breath and stilled himself, offering Alfred the same sad smile he had given him when the man first awoke.

"Exactly. That’s why I hope you’ll forgive me."

In one swift motion Arthur had raised his free hand, extending his index and middle fingers to touch his temple. By the time Alfred realized what the mutant was doing, it was too late, and he barely had time to open his mouth in protest before energy from Arthur’s mind was flowing into him. Alfred had wanted to cry out, but now he could feel his mind shutting down in the wake of Arthur’s power, and he felt the excruciating pain as each and every memory of the man he loved was ripped from him.

Arthur pulled his arm back slowly and gently laid Alfred’s limp body back onto the bed. The next time the man awoke, Arthur would be nothing but a stranger. But this was for the best, Arthur assured himself as he stumbled off the bed, because he was a mutant and Alfred would never be safe around him. It was unfortunate that this was what it had come to; Arthur using his ability to erase memories to ensure Alfred lived a long and healthy life, which would, regrettably, not include him.

But in the end it was okay, because at least now Arthur knew his treasure was safe.


	44. Don’t You Have Anything to Say?

"Arthur, you son of a bitch," Alfred howled at his once friend, not appreciating the silent treatment he was receiving. "You conniving little liar," he grit out, in a lower, harsher voice. "I knew you were a cheat but I never thought you’d actually get one past me!"

Alfred bit his tongue and looked away as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. He couldn’t even look at Arthur anymore. He was completely disgusted.

"I can’t believe you would lie to me," Alfred started up again, his voice hoarse from his earlier shrills. "You said we were gonna go to England. I was gonna meet your parents!" Alfred ended, with a shaky breath, fisting his hands in pockets. Man, he wanted to punch Arthur right now.

"What about that, huh? What about introducing them to your boyfriend? What about surprising them with the news?" Alfred’s voice was back to that uncanny high vibration that only came out when he was angry or afraid. "What about our wedding, you lying bastard?!"

Alfred couldn’t take it anymore and he fell to his knees, for once not caring if Arthur thought him weak. He stayed there, on the ground, ears straining for any noise at all, a grunt or exasperated sigh, but he got nothing.

"Don’t you have anything to say?" Alfred tried for the last time. He barely noticed the translucent string of pearls beading down his cheek and he doubted Arthur did either.

"You’re a liar," Alfred accused, though softly, as if he were reprimanding a kitten. His pulse was still racing but he was finally free of the tremors and sobs. "How will we ever do any of that if you’re stuck here in the ground?"


	45. Be a Man

I liked to think that I was a really manly guy. I was on the football team in high school. I could grill the best rib-eye you’ve ever tasted. I owned a bottle of axe. It was all pretty standard ‘guy’ stuff.

On Monday I liked to sit down with a beer and watch the Jets get their ass handed to them. But no matter how bad they were I’d stick it out with my team because that’s what men do.

Tuesday was always cards with the guys. I’d invite everyone from the neighborhood over and we’d laugh and play poker and I’d lose some money. We’d argue, and accuse each other of cheating, and eventually a bowl of cashews would end up on the floor but that’s okay because making a mess was part of being a man.

Halfway through the week was action movie night. I’d plop myself on the couch and scroll through the on-demand choices until I came across something that was sure to have a butt ton of explosions and maybe a ‘that’s what she said’ joke or two. This Wednesday I went for _21 Jump Street_ because Channing Tatum? He was pretty fucking manly.

Thursday was weights. I ran every morning to keep myself fit and work toward the six pack of every girl’s dreams, but I never did get any closer. Maybe it was because I packed away all those cans of Bud Light on Monday and Tuesday, but I couldn’t help it. Drinking beer was just a rite of passage for any man.

By the end of the week I was finally free of the world and boy did I indulge. She was a beauty, but I reserved our precious time together for Friday nights when I could lather her, get her dripping wet and covered in bubbles. Damn did it feel good to wash my baby, get a whole week’s worth of dirt and grime off her perky little lights and her nice big trunk and in between the spokes of her hubcaps. Standing in the driveway, scrubbing away at Sasha’s bright red paint, everyone had to know that I was real man that took care of his lady.

Saturday was my day off but I spent it mowing the lawn just like every other guy in the neighborhood. We all silently judged each others lawns and I didn’t really understand why the shortest grass insinuated the longest dick, but that didn’t matter. It was a silent competition we all took part in because that’s just what men do.

Sunday was different. I didn’t spend it in the office or at home. I didn’t go to the gym or let the hours fly by as I was caked in oil and grease in the garage.

On Sunday I wasn’t wearing my favorite t-shirt with the mayo stain from three years ago on it, and I sure as hell wasn’t sporting my comfiest pair of gray sweatpants that were great for lounging and watching reruns of _Ice Road Truckers_.

No, this Sunday I was wearing a pair of fitted black pants that went with my fitted white shirt and I could barely breath beneath my incredibly uncomfortable bow tie. I longed for loose fitting cotton and the elastic waistband of my sweats but I held firm through the pain, because that’s what men do.

But as I stood there, with my palms sweating as I watched the door open and two people step through, I did something that was completely against the unspoken ‘man code.’ When I saw Arthur being led down the aisle in his pressed ivory suit, looking so much more beautiful than any shiny new car could ever hope to, my eyes began to prickle but I didn’t try to stop it. Not today.

When he reached me, I was really gone, two tears already having trickled down my right cheek, and when Arthur smiled softly and whispered, “Is my big manly man, _crying_?” all I could do was smile and nod.

Wiping my eyes and staring at Arthur, I suddenly realized that the beer, the sports, the explosions, none of that really mattered. Because looking into the tender eyes of the man I loved, the man whose favorite hobbies were embroidery and gardening and who would never be caught dead in my Wal-Mart sweatpants, I knew that Arthur was every ounce as manly as me.

Because to cherish, to respect, and to love… that’s what it really means to be a man.


	46. Static

Being a military kid, I really hated change. Every one or two years once I’d finally settled into the new school in a new town and made some new friends, my dad and mom would pull out the cardboard boxes and pack everything back up again. It was hard, you know, always being the new kid. It sucked when on your birthday the only wishes I got were from my parents and brother since no one else was close enough to me to know. But I got by. Mostly by forcing smiles, and keeping to myself, but still I lasted 18 long, ever-changing years, and by the time college rolled around I was overjoyed at the prospect of a home that I’d get to keep for at least four years. Four long, blissful, and most importantly, static, years.

And so I settled in. I moved into the apartment I’d share with my twin brother. I went to my 8am three days a week. I went to the library on Thursday afternoons when I knew the mean old librarian wasn’t working. I even got a part time job at the local Stop and Shop where I cut various hunks of meat from behind the deli counter. I started to get into a rhythm and it felt wonderful.

"Hey there."

It was Sunday, and Arthur, a regular who had appeared at the deli counter every weekend for the last two months, stepped up to the glass.

"Hello, Alfred," he offered a small smile, and we exchanged pleasantries as usual. Arthur always asked how my studies were going and I, in turn, always asked how work was treating him. Once that conversation tired itself out I would grin over the counter and ask, "So, what’ll be?" even though every time it was always the same.

"Half a pound of the oven roasted turkey, if you would."

"Of course."

As I brought the hunk of meat up to the slicer, I’d start thinking, just like I always did, of how cute Arthur was with his thick eyebrows and his scattered pink freckles and that to-die-for English accent. I’d wonder if there was anyone in Arthur’s life, and then I’d daydream about what it would be like if it were me. If we were married, I’d settle down with Arthur in a nice house, in a nice suburb. We’d get a golden retriever, or maybe a lab, and we’d adopt a child and raise him there in that house and he or she wouldn’t move out until they went to college. Arthur and I would fall into a blissful routine and everything would be so pleasantly _the same_.

"Is that alright?" I asked Arthur as I placed the sliced turkey onto the scale. It was a little bit more than half a pound since I’d gotten distracted and continued to slice away.

"That’s fine," Arthur assured, so I packed away the lunch meat and printed out the sticker to place on his bag. I leaned over the counter to hand the package to Arthur. "Here you I go!" I added a smile for good measure.

"Thank you, Alfred," he returned as he placed the bag in the basket hanging off his arm. As he turned to leave, I wished he wouldn’t because I wasn’t done looking at those gorgeous green eyes.

"Arthur," slipped off my tongue before I could stop it, and as the man turned around, all my little daydreams played inside the theater of my mind. It was a dream, yes, but what would it take to make it a reality? Just one small question? _Arthur are you free tonight?_ Just a few numbers scribbled on a piece of paper? _Call me_.

But with Arthur staring at me with those bright eyes and those furrowed brows, I couldn’t do anything more than smile.

"See you next week!"

Arthur smiled softly and nodded, and this time when he turned and disappeared down one of the aisles, I didn’t call after him. I rested my arms on the counter, watching him go, and thought of what could happen if I just asked him for one little favor.

“ _Arthur,_ " and this time when he turns I send him a blinding grin. " _How does a cup of coffee sound?_ ”

I smiled sadly at nothing in particular as I got back to wiping down the slicer and waiting for the next customer.

For now Arthur would have to wait, because I had just finally settled in, and I wasn’t ready for change.


	47. Atonement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fullmetal Alchemist Crossover

"Alfred," Arthur stumbled into the room clearly half asleep. He wiped some of the weariness away on the base of his palms and sat down beside me, though not before moving aside a stack of at least eight alchemy books. "You do realize it’s two in the morning, do you not?"

Truthfully, I hadn’t, being knee-deep in research as I was. Who had time to sleep when every second I came closer. Every passing moment could lead to the epiphany when I would finally figure it out. Understand how to perform it without consequence.

"Alfred, you’re shaking."

I didn’t notice that either until my hand was in Arthur’s and I could feel my fingers ever so slightly bumping against the warmth of his palm. I sent him a charming grin, just to reassure him I was fine, but he saw right through my little charade and frowned back at me. That was simultaneously the one thing I both loved and hated about Arthur; he was the only person in the world who could read me like a book.

"Please come to sleep," he encouraged, all at once his frown dissipating and being replaced by a soft but pitying look. "Matthew would want you to rest."

"Matthew would want a lot of things. For example, I’m sure he’d like to be alive."

I said that without thinking, but it didn’t really matter because, like I said, Arthur always knew what was on my mind. 

"Alfred…"

"Go to sleep," I urged, squeezing the hand that was holding mine, and leaning over to give him a weary kiss on the cheek. "Under eye circles won’t suit your pretty little face," I teased with a cheeky smile. Arthur rolled his eyes but he did eventually comply, rising from his spot on the floor. He took a few tentative steps but stopped in the archway of the door.

"Alfred," he started, sounding relatively vulnerable which was unusual for him. "Just promise… Promise me you won’t do something you’ll regret."

"You have my word," I assured, cocking my head and sending him a thumbs up before I turned back to the open pages splayed in front me. When I could hear Arthur’s footsteps rise up our creaking staircase, that’s when the demons returned, and when I started flipping frantically through all the volumes on the floor. I knew it was a lost cause at this point, but still I turned page after page in every leather bound book on transmutations and taboos until I was sure Arthur had to have fallen asleep. Only then did I silently close the books, whispering in the darkness before I lost my resolve.

"Arthur… you of all people should know that real agreements are sealed with a handshake."

* * *

 

I woke up to a mixture of choked sobbing and a few choice curses, but gradually blinking open my eyes, both sounds tapered out into nothing more than slightly labored breathing.

With my head on the floor I saw traces of chalk on the ground, and on closer inspection it looked to be some sort of pattern.

"A transmutation circle?" I wondered aloud and surprisingly received an answer.

"Yes, a transmutation circle, you blundering idiot! What were you thinking?"

I turned my head and found myself staring into clouded green eyes that looked rather out of place under such a nasty glower. I almost wanted to laugh, but I didn’t, as out of nowhere I was suddenly caught in an embrace, and a tight one at that.

"I was so worried…" was whispered in my ear, like a secret, and I didn’t quite know how to respond.

"Hey, it’s okay," I replied, rubbing his back gently since he seemed like he needed it. When he pulled away, wiping his eyes, I offered him a smile that he reciprocated, though weakly.

"Can I ask you a question?" I started, briefly looking around the room again before settling back on the misty green eyes in front of me. He blinked and nodded, and I waited for him to wipe his nose a bit before I posed it. Sitting up straight, shoulders firm, I tried to look as serious as possible as I asked him:

"Who are you?"


	48. The Epsy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Depression

I think the walk home was always the worst part of my day. Sure, I was finally done with work, and there were the small pleasures that came with the stroll like admiring the blue and gold art deco building four blocks down that sat like a relic among the metal and glass structures that surrounded it. I loved that building. It had been remodeled three or four years ago into a set of apartments and it was my dream to live there. After all it made sense, didn’t it, for someone who didn’t quite belong to live in a building that also didn’t fit into the concrete forest of the city.

But that building, as much as I loved to look up at it and hope and dream, was also the warning sign. It told me I was approaching the worst part of my journey: the park. At the corner where main street intersected my dream address there was a park that I had to walk through to get home. Don’t get the wrong idea, I didn’t dislike the park because it was shady or anything like that. Really, it was the complete opposite. There was a swing set on the west end that as I passed, I refused to look at. It didn’t stop the sounds of happy children from infiltrating my eardrums though, or the buzz of grinning mothers chatting to each other over what their darling kids had done in school, about macaroni sculptures and aced spelling tests that I guessed were now probably now held to the kitchen fridge with a magnet. I slipped my hand in my pocket and kept walking.

On a bench to my left there was a couple. I tried to ignore them too but its pretty hard when they both seemed so gosh darn happy if their laughter was anything to go on. I bet they were the type to do the whole ‘You hang up first’ ‘No you!’ kind of thing when they called each other on the phone. A small weight settled in my stomach as I continued on.

A few more steps led me past the wide open field that was probably the major draw of the park. People often gathered for picnics or get togethers there, and today as I walked past, there was a group of guys laughing and playing frisbee. They were throwing insults around, along with the frisbee, but they were endearing insults. ‘Dude, your throws suck. They’re way too short!’ sent with a smile was just guy talk for ‘I’m glad we’re hanging out.’ The responses too of ‘Just like your dick’ was bro code for ‘I’m glad we’re friends.’ It was weird how people show affection for one another. I clenched the hand I had in my pocket and hurried along.

I increased my pace, moving to the right half of the sidewalk as I noticed another person headed up the path in the opposite direction. He was about my age, on the shorter side, blonde, and had his lips in a stringent straight line. He wasn’t much to look at, and for a fraction of a second that thought made me happy. He was average, he was alone, and he was alienated, just like me. I offered him a smile as we passed each other, because for a mere second he’d given me some sort of feeling of belonging. He didn’t return the gesture, and I hadn’t expected him too, but still it felt like a pit reopened up in my gut as we each continued along, never to cross paths again. But it was alright because by now I was almost out of the park-

"Why did you smile?"

The voice came from behind me, and I have to say I was pretty shocked to see that the same guy I’d just passed was staring up at me with bright intriguing eyes. 

"What?" I asked, because was someone really engaging me? Strangers only talked to me when they needed something like the time or directions. No one ever stopped to ask me a thing like that.

"I asked why you smiled just now," the man repeated, staring it me with rapt interest. He blinked as he raised a brow, clearly impatient with my confusion. Maybe it was because I didn’t know how to answer him or maybe it was just more so that I didn’t  _want_  to, but regardless of the reason, I couldn’t explain myself to the stranger before he opened his mouth again.

"I’m an Epsy," he said calmly, frankly, and now I was the one staring at him with eyes wide-open. An Epsy? I’d heard of them but never actually met one. They were exceedingly rare individuals who could see things beyond what the average human could ever hope to catch a glimpse of.

"I can see people’s greatest struggle just by looking at them," he explained since I must’ve still had confusion written all over my face. "There’s a word dancing above your head in dark blue letters," he said to me as I chewed at my lip. "It spells out  _Depression_.” 

I stared at the stranger and he stared back at me. There was complete incomprehension on both of our parts. For me, I couldn’t understand how something I had concealed with a lock and key, hidden beneath many fake smiles and phony laughs could have been so easily unearthed by a stranger. But for him, what he didn’t understand was-

"Why did you smile when inside you’re so sad?"

I opened my mouth to answer but then closed it again. I had no idea how to respond to him. How could I explain to him actions that I didn’t fully understand myself?

"I don’t know…" 

The nails of my clenched fist were biting into my palm. I averted my eyes to the gum-ridden sidewalk. This man, this stranger, had just asked me something I’d many times asked myself, but could never once figure out the answer.

"Don’t frown," the man ordered, but in a gentle sort of way. I looked up at him and found that his lips were no longer in a rigid line, but curved upward, softly. "You have a beautiful smile. I should like to see a real one."

I had always thought, until that point, that sadness begets sadness, and so it was not worth my time to try and explain myself to the children and couples and groups of friends that seemed so readily happy. I was always so sure that the only people I could relate to were the the foreigners, the outcasts, the 1920’s art deco designs among the bleak and modern cityscape. I was so certain that a frown was contagious that I either completely forgot or just never considered that a smile could be the same.

Maybe I was broken and stained, maybe I was scared. Maybe I was sad. But at that moment, I was smiling.


	49. Codebreaker

Arthur couldn’t tell you when he’d gotten into the habit of doing this. Perhaps it was a year ago, maybe two, but at some point he’d taken a pen to the back of a photograph and marked it.  _4AA_. That’s all he’d written on the initial image, a simple code that only he could understand.

At first he’d felt silly after making the marking, chiding himself for doing something so childish. But it had made him smile. A few short pen strokes had made him grin and so he reasoned it wouldn’t be bad to mark one or two more photos in this secret code. Of course one or two turned into ten, fifty, and before he knew it, Arthur had opened albums full of pictures from his childhood marking each in his elegant script: 17BA, 12BA, 1BA, 2AA, 6AA. Each coding, penned right next to the date on the back of the pictures, brought a smile to Arthur’s face. Why something so trivial could make a person so happy, he never attempted to understand, but still he continued with the little secret, content in knowing that it would never, could never, be deciphered by a certain someone.

Alfred often compared himself to contemporary and ancient heroes alike, but it wasn’t often that he felt like an ace detective. One day, maybe one or two months ago, he’d casually come up behind his boyfriend and pecked him on the cheek. He expected Arthur to be flustered, but he hadn’t anticipated such an extreme reaction, with Arthur’s whole body convulsing, knocking over the chair he’d been sitting in and scattering various pieces of paper to the floor.

"Easy now," Alfred said gently as he leaned down to pick up some of the scraps. They were photos, recent pictures of him and Arthur. 

"Hey, these are cute," he said offhandedly, turning one of the images over only to have it snatched from his hand. Arthur looked like he’d just been accused of some dreadful crime, and the speed with which he gathered the pictures and fled the room astounded Alfred. He returned a few moments later, perfectly calm, and all Alfred could do was arch a brow when he was asked, "What do you say to Chinese takeaway tonight?" as if the previous scene that had played out in front of him had not occurred at all. 

And so Alfred had started searching. He got a slight adrenaline rush the first time he’d opened Arthur’s desk drawers, feeling like this was wrong, so very wrong, but he told himself he was doing it out of concern for his partner. Arthur had refused to explain himself that day and so Alfred, the worrier that he was, had gotten a bit anxious. It was perfectly okay to be doing this, he assured himself, if he had Arthur’s best interests at heart. That was the personal propaganda that played in his mind when he found the first photograph hidden away in the depths of a drawer. It was of the first Christmas the couple had spent together, and on the back was written a brief three variable code: 2AA.

Since then, whenever his boyfriend was out, Alfred had turned the apartment upside down looking for more photographs. Whenever he came across them, they always had a three item code written on the back in Arthur’s near perfect script. 5AA, 8BA, 14BA, 3AA. Alfred couldn’t make sense of any of it. The farthest he got in uncovereing this mystery was realizing that there seemed to be some pattern in whether a picture was marked BA or AA. The BA photographs were nearly all of Arthur’s childhood, with a few scattered here and there from what had been his early college days. The AAs in contrast were more recent photos, ranging from Arthur’s college graduation, to less than a month ago. Alfred realized too, that he only ever appeared in the photos marked AA, though some of Arthur’s closest friends we’re visible in pictures from both categories. But what did that mean? Were BA images simply older? And still, even if that was the case, what did BA stand for? Bachelor of Arts? Bad Ass? Alfred was at a complete loss.

"What does this code stand for?" Alfred wailed aloud to the vacant room, not realizing that it was, in fact, was not so vacant.

"Alfred?" 

And in a moment this Sherlock and had been caught red-handed.

The minutes that ensued were a mixture of panic on behalf of both parties, followed by several sincere apologies in quick succession on Alfred’s part, and eventually an exasperated sigh on behalf of Arthur.

"Again, I’m so sorry," Alfred said softly, trying to calm his boyfriend after the man had nearly fainted at the sight of at least 50 photos spread out in-front of Alfred. "I just… you freaked out that one time and wouldn’t tell me about it so I… I worried."

Arthur for his part stayed quiet. Alfred took his hand and tried rubbing calming circles into his palm.

"Did you break it? The code I mean." Arthur asked at some point, and Alfred glanced up to find that a blush had spread across Arthur’s beautiful pale face.

"Not quite." He tried to sound reassuring but the quiver in his voice betrayed the fact that he was still somewhat concerned over his boyfriend. Arthur let out a soft, tired sigh as he squeezed Alfred’s hand.

"I promise you it’s nothing bad. There’s no need for you to worry, you fool," he told him affectionately. Alfred grinned at him, and with the admission, he visibly relaxed. He would take Arthur’s word for truth.

They sat in silence a moment, a wide arrangement of photographs spread across the bed where Alfred had been examining them. At last Alfred’s curiosity got the best of him.

"Can I ask what the code stands for?"

Arthur’s blush, which had receded for the time being, returned full force.

"Oh Alfred…"

"Hey you don’t have to tell me if it makes you so uncomfortable," Alfred quickly backtracked, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. Still… he did want to know.

"It’s you," Arthur mumbled, and Alfred nearly missed it. 

"Me?" he asked confused. "What do I have to do with it?"

Arthur looked visibly pained, stricken by embarrassment as he averted his gaze toward the ground.

"The code… it’s you," he elaborated, refusing to look up. "BA stands for Before Alfred and AA stands for After Alfred." He still didn’t chance looking up at his boyfriend. "The number indicates the number of years before or after when we first met in 2011…"

The room was silent for awhile and Arthur was sure Alfred was building up a laugh so loud the neighbors would hear it next door. But to his surprise, when he did at last look up, Alfred was sending him one of the largest, sweetest smiles he’d ever seen.

Alfred leaned in gradually at first, then all at once, and kissed him squarely on the lips. Arthur’s reaction was slow to start but he eventually melted into it, wrapping his arms around Alfred’s neck and for a moment not caring that his code was broken, his secret discovered.

For just that moment his thoughts were completely enveloped by the man that had spurred the development of the code in the first place, the man that split his life into a before and after.


End file.
